It was dark when Danner opened his eyes.  The nightmare faded quickly, leaving him sweat-soaked and shivering.  He rolled over, groping for his lamp, and realized he was still very weak.

The boards covering two of the attic windows had been pulled away.  Moonlight fell through, leaving wide, white bars across the floor.  A man sat, cross-legged, in front of one, a spyglass to his eye.  Relieved, Danner recognized the slightly disheveled silhouette.

"Bad dreams?"  the silhouette asked.

"The worst."  Danner struggled to sit.  "Although it sure started out nice."

"What was it about?"

"I was with this beautiful woman.  Except, just when things got interesting, she tried to kill me."

His voice trailed off as a sudden, vivid image imposed itself between them.  Eyes that burned, hair that blazed.  White light, pain. He shook his head as the image shredded and was gone.

"Indeed."  Thoughtful. Then: "There's food on the table next to you. I highly recommend Ernie's Bar."

The box beside the mattress held a banquet.  There were soft white rolls (a bit crushed), a couple of apples, some pickled cabbage and - glory of glories - a fat slice of chicken pie wrapped in parchment paper!   Rendered inarticulate by this largesse, Danner stammered his thanks.  For a while, nothing else existed but the indescribably delicious food.  By  the time he finished the last of the pie and licked the gravy off his fingers, strength was seeping back into starved muscles and the world seemed much brighter.

"That was great.  You're in charge of the shopping from now on.  What are you looking at, by the way?"

"Does the moon seem different to you?"  The Doctor asked.

"Huh?  You took off the boards so you could stare at the moon?"

"Among other things."  The Time Lord angled the spyglass down.  "Did you know you're under surveillance?"

"WHAT?"

Danner was off the mattress and across the attic in four swift strides.  Crouching beside the Time Lord, he looked out.  The Fringe stretched toward the horizon in bleak splendor, its empty buildings rising above canyons of deep shadow.  He saw nothing unexpected -- and was in no way reassured.

"Where?"  he demanded.

The Doctor handed over his glass  "To the left - that building with the gargoyles on the
corners.  Fourth floor, second window to the right."  The Doctor paused, gazing upward again.  "It is different.  Bigger, maybe?"

Danner ignored the lunar babble and found the correct window.  After a few seconds of intense scrutiny, he saw a gleam -- moonlight glancing off metal.  On the edge of panic, he turned quickly away from the window and sat with his back against the wall.

This place would have to be dumped, of course.  It was a shame, too, because the attic was one of his better lairs.  It was close to Old Town,  but not too close.  The walls and foundations were sturdy, the roof intact.  Damn!

"Is there a college or University around here?" the Doctor asked, oblivious to the catastrophe.  "Somewhere that might have astronomical data gathered since the plague?"

"I don't know.  Were you followed into Old Town?"

"They picked me up about a hundred feet from your flat."

Unbelievable. "And back?"

The Doctor shrugged.  "They tried, but I lost them."  He turned and looked directly
at Danner.  "You know - the people I met at Ernie's talked about a blackstone called the Nightwalker who allegedly killed several policemen.  Do you know anything about that?"

Cold settled into his gut.  The cops knew what he was.  Time to abandon Deet altogether, then.  No matter.  He had been in this sewer far longer than was healthy anyway.  He could head west - no, south.  It would be nice not to put up with winter anymore.

"It was self defense. Are you sure you lost them, Doctor?"

"Quite sure, although I needn't have bothered.  They knew where I was going just as surely as they knew where to pick me up."

"Oh, really? How do you know?"

"That building faces west.  I got back here just before sunset when the light was shining directly onto it.  There's a camera set up in that window, and what looks like camp furniture in the same room.   Your friends have been there for a while.  Days, maybe weeks."  He paused.  "And, for what it's worth, I approve wholeheartedly of the Nightwalker's mission.  As it happens, I once knew this remarkable woman named Harriet Tubman . . . "

"Doctor?"  Danner's mouth wobbled into a grin.  "Would you mind if we concentrated on the problems at hand?"

"Sorry," the Doctor said sheepishly.  "I do tend to wander off, don't I?"

"Uh-huh.  Anyway - as I see it - first we've got to get out of here - discreetly.  Then we need to get you a diamond - and I have to find out what happened to the client I was supposed to meet last night.  Are you up for another trip into Old Town?"

"What about the watchers?"

"I have more than one way out of this place, thank you -- and anyway, we won't be back."

"Too bad," the Doctor replied.  "This flat has a nice view."

"Yeah, well.  That's life.  Now - could you give me a hand with some of this stuff?"

There was not much to collect - books and a few small but precious items that had somehow survived the decades with him.   His entire personal wealth fit neatly into two packs.  The Doctor slung one over his shoulder and looked expectantly at the blackstone.

"Let's blow."

Danner's was a life of fast exits.  None of his hideouts had less than three; it was the primary criterion by which he selected them.  At the far end of the attic was his emergency escape hatch - a small door cut into the wall.  Danner pushed it open and heard the Doctor catch his breath.

"Oh, come on!  It's not that bad. See that ledge?"

"I hope you're not talking about that ten-inch strip of crumbling brick."

"That would be the ledge.  It's not as bad as it looks, I promise you.  We just go around the corner.  There's a building right next to this and its roof is just under the ledge."

"I don't heal as fast as you do," the Doctor pointed out.  "How often have you made this trip?"

"Once," Danner admitted.  "I only slipped a couple of times."

"They could be watching this side of the building."

"I'm going to assume they are."  Danner shrugged into his backpack.  "Follow me."

The Doctor proved to be more than equal to the ledge.  In fact, Danner suspected that in spite of his diffident manner, the Time Lord was equal to anything.  He stayed with the blackstone as they moved, quick and low, across a neighboring roof and down through a hole into the building's musty interior.

His meal had completely restored the blackstone's strength and perception.   His senses were wide open as he led the Time Lord through a labyrinthine succession of hallways, rooms, streets and rooftops.  Twice he caught movement from the corner of his eye, but both instances proved to be animals -- rats and a wild dog.  Finally, a block from Old Town, he called a halt.

They were in a half-ruined storefront, crouched out of sight behind the counter.  The open front window had a straight view of an alley across the street.  He saw torchlight and heard loud, acrimonious voices somewhere just out of sight.  While the Doctor caught his breath, Danner put on his hat.  He retrieved several coins from his bag, then rocked back on his heels.

"What are we waiting for?" the Doctor whispered.  "Is something wrong?"

"I'm trying to decide what to do about you and Blalocks."

"Blalocks?"

"It's my contact point-- and the most likely place I know outside City Center to find someone stupid enough to be wearing diamonds."

"The crystal doesn't have to be stolen, Danner."

"Who said anything about stealing?" the blackstone asked indignantly.

"How else did you plan to get it?  Do you have any money?  I have exactly two dollars - and six pounds sterling no one will take."

"I see.  So you're broke and I'm broke, but somehow we're going to get a precious gem without stealing it.   You know, Doctor, come to think of it, you should stay put."

"Why?"
 

"You sound suspiciously like a man of conscience, and men likeyou have a low survival rate in this part of Old Town.  You'll be safer here."

"You don't want to know my plan for getting the crystal?"

"That you even have a plan scares the shit out of me.  Now stay!"

He slipped out of the building, a chuckle following him into the street.

* * *

To the uninitiated, Blalocks Bar was remarkable only for its extreme seediness.  Part of a web of vice and violence run by a local crime syndicate, Blalock's was also one of the few places in Norm territory where Danner felt almost comfortable.

It was close to dawn, but the bar was packed.  The blackstone gave his hat a precautionary tug before plunging into the rowdy crowd.  His goal was an inconspicuous door toward the back of the bar guarded by a dim-looking giant.

"Hey, Sammy!"

The giant gave him a narrow look, then grinned.  "Howdy, Dan.  Can't go in right now.  Full up."

"Oh, darn.  I had an appointment with Giselda.  Are you sure\ you can't sneak me in now?"

"Uh-uh."

"There a waiting list?"

"Uh-huh."

A dollar-piece appeared magically in the blackstone's palm.

"Is my name on it?"

The money vanished into the pocket of the doorman's dirty shirt.

"Right up near the top, Danny."

"Thanks.  I'll be over there."

He found a small table in the corner and sat down.  Through the room's thick tobacco haze, he saw the bar-boy, a scrawny Contract worker, threading his way toward two other newcomers.  The taller of these men leaned on the grimy counter and hollered for service.  In spite of a healthy pair of lungs, he was barely audible above the din.   Trouble, thought Danner, only mildly interested.  He recognized them vaguely - Runners for one of Old Town's druglords

Harry Blalock, the bartender, was nowhere to be seen - probably upstairs with his new wife.  It was a sign of Harry's august standing with the Alliance (and his large bank account) that he was able to possess such a delightful and rare commodity.  Danner had seen her only once - a wide-eyed moppet with frizzy blond hair who could not possibly have been more than thirteen.

A tray laden with drinks balanced precariously on his arm, the bar-boy approached the Runners and spoke.  The bigger of the two grinned and, stretching out a long arm, grabbed for the boy. The urchin, startled, promptly dropped his burden --onto his would-be paramours fancy, embossed leather boots.

Uproarious laughter filled the bar - which naturally did nothing for the big man's temper.  Howling his rage, he backhanded the slave across the floor and into a table.  Table, boy, and tray went flying in all directions.  The child, a flaming red mark adorning his cheek, scrambled madly to avoid the man's lunge, crawling away beneath legs and chairs as fast as he could.

The entire bar was now caught up in the excitement, mightily amused by it all.  Crimson with humiliation and fury, the big man blundered through the bar after the slave, who was screeching "Harry!  Help, Harry!" at the top of his shrill voice.

Miraculously, his appeal brought the innkeeper out of the kitchen, truncheon in hand.  One glance was enough to show that worthy what was happening.

"Howard!  Rack!  You bloody bastards!  You know better than that!  Don't be messin' with my property!  You think the brat's contract is cheap?"

Although it hardly seemed possible, Harry was bigger than either of the two thugs.  They scowled and blustered, but backed away.  The boy, safely behind the bar by now, smirked at his tormenters as they retreated, and stuck out an impertinent tongue.

Grinning and shaking his head, Danner returned his attentionto his drink.  Unfortunately, one of the men, Howard, saw hisamusement.  Since that the upstart was alone, the Runner decided to take offense.  The blackstone looked up to see them both looming over his table.

"You think that's funny?" demanded Howard.

A big vein throbbed at his temple. Danner raised a mollifying hand.

"I meant no offense," he replied mildly.  "Let me buy you a drink."

"Let me kick your ass!"  returned Howard, and seizing the edge of the table, upended it.

But Danner was no longer there.  Blinking in confusion, Howard looked around to see the blackstone leaning against the wall a few feet away, regarding him placidly.

"HOWARD!"

Across the bar, Harry was struggling to get through the growing knot of onlookers.  Everyone was much too interested in the unfolding drama, however, to let him break it up.

There was a loud crack, followed by a bellow of outrage from Harry.  Howard's pal, Rack, had broken off a table leg and was advancing on Danner with the thing clutched in one beefy fist.  Danner sighed and tugged his hat more firmly down over his forehead.  How effing tedious.

Rack swung at Danner, the table-leg whistling with the speed of its descent.  But again, Danner was no longer in harm's way.  There were murmurs of amazement from the crowd as Rack stumbled, caught in the momentum of his swing, and managed to lurch around, only to see his intended victim standing with arms folded across his chest, looking completely relaxed.

Danner tried one more time.

"Listen, friend.  This is stupid.  My offer of a drink still stands . . . "

"AAAAGH!"

Howard pulled out a knife and the audience gasped appreciatively.  Brandishing the blade wildly, he again hurled himself at Danner.  The blackstone waited until the razor edge was inches from his face, then, with the same blinding speed, ducked and kicked, catching Howard squarely in the knee.   Spinning away, he was well clear when Howard hit the floor, face first.

There was a spattering of applause.

"Look out!" someone shouted.

The blackstone had already sensed Rack coming up behind, the table-leg on its way once more to crush his skull.  He ducked and dodged again, this time coming up under Rack's guard.
Danner rammed his head into the Runner's chin.  There was a sickening crunch.  Screeching in pain, his jaw shattered, Rack reeled into the unsympathetic bystanders.  Danner straightened
his hat and checked on his other opponent.  Howard, too, was crawling away, dragging his injured leg.  The audience, thoroughly entertained, applauded the blackstone enthusiastically, calling out offers of free drinks.  Danner bowed slightly and, righting his table, sat down again.

"I'm impressed," came an all-too-familiar voice at his elbow.

"Doctor!"

The Time Lord pulled a stool over and sat next to him.

"Can I ask what you did before the plague?"

"I thought I told you to stay put!"

"You did," replied the Doctor cheerfully.  "But - ah - here comes the innkeeper!  Two of your finest ales, my good man!"

Defeated, Danner dropped his head into his hands and groaned.

INTERLUDE

The Hospice was a quarter mile into the Fringe, well away from the nearest Norm habitation.  Its decaying brick facade was hidden by a new stone wall, twelve feet high and accessed only by a steel gate that was guarded night and day.  Few Norms knew or cared what misery lay behind that wall.  It was enough that there was a place to contain the plague bearers when Relapse made them infectious again.

A plain black carriage rolled up to the gate and stopped.  Its shades were pulled down and no marks identified the vehicle in any way.  The coachman, wrapped in an ankle length overcoat and thick scarf, got down and had a brief word with the guard who came out to greet him.

Conversation ended, the coachman climbed back up to his post and the guard opened the gate.  Behind it were more guards.  They moved to the side as the carriage rattled slowly through.

A blackstone in a dirty white coat came out of the building and stood waiting as the coachman climbed down again and opened the carriage door.  After a few moments, a tall, thin figure stepped gingerly onto the littered pavement.  Like his driver, he was hidden in a cocoon of bulky clothing, but the blackstone immediately bowed low.

"How many new admissions?"  the Cardinal rasped.

"Six, Excellency."

"Take me to them."

The blackstone bowed again, then turned and led the Cardinal into the Hospice.

By no stretch of the imagination was this anything other than a prison.  Windows and exterior doors were bricked up.  There were stains on the ceiling and water dripped monotonously from it to pool on the floor.  Rats chattered in walls where most of the plaster had long since flaked away.  In some places, the walls and floors were black with roaches.  It was an unbelievably foul and verminous place.

A blackstone huddled nearby, muttering in delirium.  Further along the corridor, another lay face down on the floor, shaking with fever.  The blackstone medic stopped before a door.  Followed by his coachman, the Cardinal brushed past the medic and stepped through.

In the room beyond, the floor was covered by thin, mildewed pallets.  The place stank of sweat, excrement and vomit.

Unfazed, the Cardinal picked his way through the squalor, stopping before a row of pallets along the back wall. Blackstones in various stages of Relapse waited out the symptoms, lying semiconscious in their own filth.

The Cardinal motioned to his companion.  Bending down, the coachman turned over the  nearest blackstone with a gloved hand.  After a moment, the priest shook his head and they moved to the next.

At the fourth pallet, the Cardinal stiffened.

"Light," he ordered.

The coachman produced a candle and flint.  It's uncertain illumination fell onto the blackstone's drawn face.  Lines of suffering were etched deep around eyes and mouth.  His 'stone glittered as the candle's glow struck it.

"Him," said the Cardinal.

The coachman leaned over and placed a silver disk on the blackstone's chest.  That done, the two moved on to the next pallet.

Only one other blackstone received a silver disk.  The Cardinal turned to his companion.

"Wait for me outside," he commanded.  "And let no one enter."

"Excellency," bowed the coachman, and obeyed.

When the door was firmly closed, the Cardinal lifted an emaciated arm.  There was a wide, silver band around his bony wrist.  He touched it.

A narrow beam of blue light appeared, streaking around the ceiling until it formed an outline of shimmering azure.  At each of the corners, more beams then moved diagonally across the pitted plaster to form a large X.  From its intersection, the beams turned and lanced earthward, each connecting with a silver disk.  The two blackstones were immediately enveloped in a diffuse blue glow.  The beams and their nimbi flared briefly, than vanished.

The Cardinal lingered for a moment, looking down on the two empty pallets.  He turned and let himself out of the room.  The coachman was waiting.

"Excellency?"

"Kill the others," ordered the Cardinal, and returned without haste to his carriage.

* * *

Danner was not speaking to him.  Sighing, the Doctor stared down into the bottom of his mug.  There were four or five such mugs in front of Danner, all empty, but the blackstone showed no sign of inebriation.  His plague-altered physiology probably treated alcohol like any other toxin - simply neutralized it before it could affect his body.  To the Doctor, who enjoyed his pint now and again, that seemed a low blow.

They were waiting for something, although Danner refused to say what it was.  He just sat and turned one of his mugs around and around, glaring off into space, sullen and sulking.  The Doctor finished his last swallow and tried again.

"I've been thinking about the people who are watching your flat."

No response beyond a subtle tightening of the jaw.

"From what I've seen so far, the camera they're using is quite far ahead of Old Town technology.  Unless the police have such technology?"

Still, nothing.  The Doctor felt a small twinge of annoyance.  He covered it by waving down the bar boy for another mug.

"They don't," said Danner abruptly.  "Cameras are First Age tech.  Frowned on by the Church.  Are you sure it wasn't a gun?"

"Quite sure."

"That's really weird," the blackstone muttered.  "A camera.  I wonder  . . . "

 "Wonder what?" pounced the Doctor.

"There was a rumor going around about sixty years ago that some intellectuals had banded together to preserve pre-plague\ technology.  The Church went into a frenzy about it and arrested anyone who even mentioned stuff like video recorders or computers.  No one ever found them, though; no sign was ever seen of anything like that since, so I just figured it was rumour.  Maybe not.  Although what they'd want with me, I have no idea."

"Suppose it was true," the Time Lord mused.  "Where do you think a group like that would be?"

"Not here in Deet," replied Danner.  "This town's just starting to think about defying the Church.  My guess is they would be lying real low."

"Were there any universities or seminaries in the area?"

"Several, but they were all destroyed by the Purifiers."

"Who?"

"Fanatics who would call the current Church hierarchy wimps.  Back in the early days, they roamed the countryside in packs, searching for heretics.  Anything that even looked like an institution of higher learning got razed.  They especially enjoyed slow-roasting blackstones."

"Uh-oh," the Doctor said.  "There's a very large man heading toward our table."

"Good."  Danner straightened and turned around. "Sammy!"

"You kin go in now, Danny-boy.  But Giselda says to hurry because she wants to go home."

Danner jumped up.  The Doctor did, too, keeping close on his heels until they got to the door.  There, the giant balked.

"He ain't paid."

For a moment, the Doctor was afraid Danner would disavow him, but instead the blackstone said in longsuffering tones: "He's with me, Sammy.  Doctor - you need to pay the man a dollar."

The Time Lord had one such coin remaining.  He turned it over at once, and the big man opened the door.

Outside was an alley walled up at both ends.  Judging from the appalling stench the Doctor decided this was probably the latrine.  They walked across the stinking pavement and through another door.

Where the bar had been dark, dirty and rundown, this place dazzled.  The Doctor stood still, transfixed by the glittering profusion of velvets, silks, gilt and satin.  The large room was over-warm from a profusion of candles in elaborately-worked holders, the thick air heavy with perfume.   Spindly-legged tables were cluttered with half-empty liquor glasses and overflowing ashtrays.

And there were women - a half dozen of them, at least.  The Time Lord turned to Danner, open mouthed, but the blackstone was occupied.  He was talking in low, earnest tones to a stunning young woman dressed in a sheer and very low-cut gown.  She appeared to be very angry with him, waving her arms about and stamping a tiny, high-heeled foot.  To the Doctor's amazement, the volatile blackstone was taking the tongue-lashing meekly.  He tried to respond several times, but the young lady would have none of it, lighting into him with even greater fury.  Hiding his grin, the Doctor wandered into the center of the parlor.

He had no illusions about the purpose of this place.  Brothels were brothels, no matter where in the universe one found them.  This one seemed much like any other - its cheap finery covering grime and probably a host of diseases.  There were only a few customers remaining this late at night, and most of them were comatose.  The whores sat about on the gaudy scarlet couches, bored or half-asleep.

A few, however, were alert enough to register the arrival of a new customer.  The Doctor quickly found himself the reluctant focus of no less than three of the women.

A blowzy blond in a tight-fitting satin slip minced up to him, snaking a plump arm through his.

"My, my!  Look at this one, Suzie!"

"Looks like an angel, he does," agreed another blond, very thin and with an unhealthy pallor under a thick layer of cosmetics.  "Lordy, lordy!"

The Doctor gently disengaged the first woman's hand from his behind.  She gave him a wide grin and grabbed the other side, squeezing hard. Her companion took advantage of this distraction to slide greedy fingers into his trousers.

"Ooooo.  We are a big boy!"  cooed Suzie, not at all offended by his muttered exclamation and swift movement away from her.  "Half price for you, sugar!"

"Don't listen to 'er," the first whore warned, glaring at her co-worker.  "She's got the clap."

Inexplicably, the Doctor's cravat was too tight.  He made an ineffectual attempt to loosen it, but was forced almost immediately to defend himself again.

"I'm terribly sorry," he managed.  "But I don't think -- that is, not right now -- I mean -- LADIES, PLEASE!"

"Listen to him!  Are you from City Center, darlin'?"

Besieged, the Doctor attempted to escape his admirers, but his stumbling step backward only pitched him onto a couch.  That was all the invitation the ladies needed.  They plunked themselves down with him, each trying to get into his lap.  As soon as he pushed a groping hand away, another would take its place.

Worse - their attentions were producing unexpected effects.   His cravat, for instance, was strangling him, and he was very warm.   These reactions were almost as disconcerting as the actions that caused them.

The Doctor had been the object of amorous advances before.  He had always been able to deflect them without ruffling any feathers, serenely unmoved by the most determined assault. Yet, suddenly, he found himself considering a host of unexpected sensations and - not for the first time - began to have serious misgivings about this regeneration.

"Girls!  Girls!  Shame on you!  You're terrifying the poor man!"

Abruptly, he was alone on the couch.  The diminutive fury was standing in front of him, shaking her finger at the other women.   Behind her, lounging against the door, Danner grinned at the Time Lord's discomfort.

The Doctor gathered what dignity he could and got off the couch.  His trousers were undone, his cravat askew and some especially nimble fingers had succeeded in unbuttoning not only his waistcoat but his shirt as well!

"Thank you, Miss."

"Not at all, sir."  A sparkling smile tilted up at him.  "They do get excited when such a handsome, well-bred gentleman comes calling."

"I . . .er . . . "

Resisting the impulse to wipe his brow, the Doctor directed a look of desperate appeal to Danner.  The blackstone, rot his soul, was doubled over in laughter.  With a noble attempt at nonchalance, the Doctor buttoned up, tucked in and straightened himself while the young lady watched with lively interest.

"There now."  She brushed a bit of lint from the velvet lapel.  "Let me do that."

His cravat was quickly and neatly retied, but the tiny hand lingered.

"Gizzy, have mercy on the poor guy, will you?"

"Oh, Danny.  You just want him for yourself!"

Danner - finally, blast him! - condescended to step in.  He left his post by the door and gently drew the little lady away.

"I mean it, Roger.  The man's not in your league."

"Roger?"  The Doctor stared at him, extreme embarrassment piling on top of confusion.  "All these girls are ...?'

"Trans-vees, yep.  You don't honestly think there would be real women in a dive like this."

"Danny!"

"Present company excepted, of course."  Danner gave the pouting transvestite a brotherly chuck under the chin.  "See ya, sweetie."

Out on the street, the cool morning air did wonders for the Doctor's overheated constitution.  He took a deep breath and, hoping his mortification was not perceptible, asked:  "Why didn't you tell me they were all men?"

"No, Doctor -the question is, why didn't you know?  You had three of 'em in your lap, for Chrissakes!  Don't Gallifreyens have sex?"

"I was too busy trying to get them off to analyze their curves and angles.  And as for sex, my species wouldn't last very long without it,"  the Doctor pointed out.  "It's just that - as an unusually long-lived race, we don't reach sexual maturity until our tenth or eleventh regeneration."

"You're a virgin?"

"Not exactly . . . "

Danner produced one of his mercurial grins.  "Not exactly a virgin.  Isn't that like being kind of pregnant?"

"Let's just say the equipment works, but the excitement isn't there."  He looked up and down the empty street.  "Where are we going now?"

"Unfortunately, I wasn't where I was supposed to be last night and now my client is panicking.  Gizzy said he's heading out of town by the main road - the fool.  He'll never make it through the Agristrip.  The aristos have private security forces that make the Deet police look like rent-a-cops.  However, we can catch up to him if we hurry.  I could drop you at one of my way stations, but you'd probably just follow me, wouldn't you?"

"You are my only guide back to the TARDIS."  The Doctor explained apologetically.

"Yeah," Danner sighed.  "OK.  But when we find him, you stay out of sight.  I don't want to spook the poor guy."

"What if he sees us first?"

The blackstone snorted.

* * *

Deet began gradually to awaken.  A cart rattled by, then another.  They passed through a large market where merchants and farmers were setting up their stalls.  Wagons were parked willy-nilly along the street while men scurried under heavy bushels of produce.  Danner found opportunity to wander close by several of the carts, and once out of sight of their owners, produced a couple large apples and some muffins.  The Doctor raised his eyebrows, but did not turn down the treats.   Munching, they strolled on in companionable silence as the city came alive around them.

"How did you get involved in this underground railroad of yours?"  The Doctor asked as they turned down a small side street.

"I'd heard there was a community down south where you could live without fear of persecution.  I knew a couple blackstones who had been there and come back to lead others out.  They were good people.   Eventually, both of them were arrested and executed.  That convinced me that they were telling the truth, so I picked it up.  And anyway, it's a living."

"You get paid?"

"Sometimes.  Most of my clients these days are blackstones who have been employed but lost their jobs - or new cases on the lam from City Center.  Deet money's no good in Freedom Town, so if they've got any, I ask for some. If not," he shrugged, "it's no big deal."

"An altruist."

"Hardly," Danner replied drily.  "You're an immortal - or close to it.  What's your biggest challenge?"

The Doctor stopped and regarded the blackstone thoughtfully.  "Avoiding boredom," he said.

"Bingo."

"How does Gisel . . .Roger fit into this?"

"Ah, Rog."  Danner grinned appreciatively.  "Believe it or not, our delectable Gizzy is the son of a top Contract Department executive.  It puts him in an excellent position to know who is about to be enslaved."

"Does he know you're a blackstone?"

"Ha! No.  He's not that open-minded."

The traffic picked up as they approached the main thoroughfare out of Deet.  The streets were wider here, with traffic lanes marked by lines of paint and gas street lights standing at the intersections.

"This looks almost normal," the Doctor commented as they reached a broad avenue that appeared to the hub of activity.   "Well - for the nineteenth century, anyway."

Here was Deet's new business district, Danner explained, the buildings scrupulously restored and maintained.  Shipping offices, warehouses and the various retail outlets of major farming estates were located here.  Deet city government had a presence, as well.  Not the Council Hall, of course, but working departments like Customs and the big C.D. complex.   Blackstone contractees were easy to identify in their drab coveralls and steel wrist bands, sweeping the streets or loading and unloading the big double-cab wagons.  There were also a considerable number of the grey-uniformed police, some mounted, others on foot in small patrols.   Danner pulled the doctor into the archway of a small arcade.

"I don't like this," he admitted.  "There are a lot of cops around this morning."

"Hunting you?"

"Don't think so."  He pointed to several mounted police grouped at an intersection.  "That looks like crowd control to me.  I wonder what's up?"

And something was up.  The Doctor noticed that people were gathering along the sidewalks, most of them looking down the road.  He and Danner drifted over to a cluster of  roughly dressed men, one of whom had moved out into the middle of the pavement.  Ignoring the curses of a passing wagoneer, he was jumping up and down in an attempt to see further.

"See 'em yet?"  His companion shouted.

Alas, the lookout was forced to abandon his position when two police ambled their horses toward him.   He scurried back to his fellows.

"Nothing," he reported.

"Can't believe Lermor actually sat still for this!" his companion said.  "The Witchhorde ain't called that for no reason."

"I heard they  used black magic to bring a cliff down on a big raiding party out east."

"Pffft."  The first man was unconvinced.  "Probably had plas-teek."

"What?  What's that?"

"My God!"  Danner pulled the Doctor back into the archway again.  "The 'Horde got permission to enter Deet?  I can't believe it!"

"I heard something about this Witchhorde at Ernie's," the Time Lord recalled.

"Yeah, I'll bet."  Danner's eyes gleamed.  "I've been hearing about these guys for decades!  Not much, mind you - a whisper here, a tall tale there,  But even rumors start from something.  For instance, their commander is supposed to be a warlock or a sorcerer or something."

"Probably the 'or something'," the Time Lord muttered.

Danner heard an odd note in the Doctor's voice and gave him a sharp glance.

"I didn't think they use real magic, Doc.  Give me some credit."

 "THERE THEY ARE!"

Excitement rippled through the crowd.  There was an almost festival atmosphere.

"Come on," Danner said, and pushed forward to have a look.

Two lines of advancing horsemen spread across the width of the road -- Deet militia, Danner explained over his shoulder.  To the Doctor they looked just like the police except for red striping on trousers and helmets.  As the militia got closer, he saw a small group of riders sandwiched between them and yet another line of city troops.   There were six, five keeping a protective formation around the sixth. The riders wore dark green uniforms unmarked by any identifying patch or emblem. Rifles were slung over their shoulders, and their horses were uncommonly fine.

A sudden stir ran up the street.  As the 'Horde riders drew abreast of the Doctor, they shifted apart slightly, giving him a glimpse of the rider their midst.

"Good God!" Came the awed exclamation of the man standing beside him.  "Will you look at that!"

The Doctor caught his breath.

The sixth rider slowed the procession with a gesture.   A pair of golden eyes drifted indifferently over the crowd.  Hair as hot and bright as flame caught the sunlight and burned in his vision.  There was a long, wistful sigh from the onlookers.

The woman's gaze moved past them, then snapped back to fix directly on Danner.  Without taking her eyes from him, she said something to the rider on her left and pointed.  Two riders broke away from the rest and turned their horses toward the sidewalk.

"Danner?"

Under the Doctor's hand, Danner's shoulder was rigid as steel.  The blackstone twisted around and pushed blindly through the press of bodies, oblivious to angry shouts rising around him.  Dredging up a fine old Taludian curse, the Doctor wasted no time in following.

The blackstone broke free of the crowd and ran for an alley.  Behind them, the Doctor heard  the drumbeat of hooves on pavement, the panicked shouts of bystanders as they fled to escape trampling.   Someone - the police perhaps - blew a loud whistle.  Knowing the blackstone's tricks, the Doctor concentrated on keeping Danner in sight.

At least this regeneration had produced a youthful body!  Even so, the Doctor had trouble keeping Danner in view.  The blackstone ran like the wind.  They were quickly out of Old Town and back in the Fringe.  The crowd noise died away, but the echoes of pursuit were still audible.  Ahead of him, Danner took a flying leap at a dangling fire escape.  Rotting steel groaned under his weight, but held.

"Danner, WAIT!"

The other man was already halfway up the ladder.  A  moment later, he dove through a window and out of sight.  Realizing he was in real danger of being left behind, the Doctor abandoned his reluctance and seized hold of the bottommost rung.

Miraculously, Danner was waiting for him.

"Too slow," he warned as the Doctor fell through the window.  He reached down and seized the Time Lord by the hand, hauling him to his feet.

"Sorry," gasped the Doctor.  "New body."

"Excuses, excuses."

Leaving the Doctor to catch his breath, Danner had a quick look out the window.

"No one," he announced, "but we'd better not take any chances. Come on."

"Hold it right there!"

A man stood in the doorway, a gun trained on them both.   There was another behind him.  Danner started back toward the window, but a deafening crack followed by a shower of wood chips and plaster convinced him otherwise.  Where his head had been there was now a deep bullet hole in the window frame.

"Who are you?"  Danner demanded.

"Turn around.  Up against the wall, hands raised, legs spread. . . NOW!"

The man stepped into the room, followed by his companion.  Two more appeared behind the first.  All of them wore uniforms of unrelieved black.  All were armed.  The first man, who appeared to be in command, motioned one of the others to block access to the window.

"I said - now!"

He shoved hard at the blackstone, pushing him against the wall.  Danner swore, but did as he was told.  While the leader covered him, the second man ran rubber-gloved hands swiftly over the blackstone's body.  He turned back to the commander.

"Lieutenant," he said, displaying gun and knife.

"Cuff him."

As the man reached for a wrist, Danner suddenly turned.  The soldier opened his mouth to shout a warning, but Danner's heel was there, cutting him off in mid-cry, snapping his head back with a hideous crack.

"Sonufa...!"

The man by the window was bringing his weapon around, hastil aiming it at the blackstone.   Taking advantage of the distraction, the Doctor lunged, ramming a shoulder into the man's chest and nearly dumping him out onto the fire escape.  His gun clattered to the floor and the Time Lord leapt for it.

The lieutenant was shouting for reinforcements as Danner spun, that devastating kick aimed toward his head.  This man, however, was made of sterner stuff.  He feinted to the right, avoiding the blow, and followed through with one of his own.

The Doctor stretched desperately toward the gun, inches away.  There was another loud report, and the weapon skittered off across the floor.  The Doctor drew back, fingers stinging, hearts doing double-time.

"The next fool who moves dies!"

The Doctor looked around.  Yet more men, these bearing automatic weapons, crowded into the room.  Danner, recovering from the lieutenant's blow, almost went for them.  Fortunately, common sense intervened.  Eyes dark with fear and fury, the blackstone stood motionless, raising his hands.  Something cold and hard poked into the Doctor's back.

"Go ahead," growled the man he had nearly sent through the window.  "Just try something, bastard!"

One of their number lay on the floor, head twisted at an unnatural angle.  The lieutenant, after making sure his men had the two captives under control, dropped to one knee beside the body.

"Dead," he confirmed in a flat voice.

"Gee, sorry," Danner snarled back.  "I'm usually nicer to creeps who waylay me with guns."

"Shut up."

"Fuck you!"

The lieutenant turned and slammed Danner against the wall with a well-directed left hook. "Cuff him and let's get outta here."

"Lieutenant Sheridan!"   An eighth uniformed man appeared in the doorway.  How many were there?  "We're going to have company real soon if we don't get a move on!"

Some of the soldiers moved forward, shoving Danner roughly against the wall again, locking his wrists behind him.  They stepped away and the lieutenant, seizing the blackstone by the shoulders, spun him back around.

"Listen and listen good.  Give me any more trouble and I'll make sure you regret it.  You diseased bastards heal very nicely, so I'm not worried about doing lasting damage.  Get my drift?"

Danner spat blood, but sensibly kept his comments to himself.

"Get him to the transport," the lieutenant ordered.

"What about this one?"

The gun barrel jabbed the Doctor a couple more times.

"We've got what we came for," was the lieutenant's reply.  "Incapacitate him and let's go."

"Hey!  Wait!  Doctor, don't. . ."

Whatever Danner had been about to say was lost as they dragged him from the room.  The Time Lord tried to get up and go after him, but something came crashing down on the back of his head.  There was an explosion of stars, blinding pain, and oblivion.

  Next

 Home    Fan Fiction Archive