"My body is permanent; it will not perish; it will not be destroyed in this eternal land."

 The tomb robber's sudden appearance from the sarcophagus took everyone by surprise. The Doctor was mired in the web of his own memories, reliving his humiliation under the mental onslaught of Sutekh the last time he met an Osiran. Benny was too far away to be of any assistance and could only stare impotently as the ragged figured lunged towards the Doctor. Time seemed to slow for Benny. Her every movement an eternity of desperation. Too late. She tried to at least call to him, get him to move, pull a rabbit from his hat or something, but the words could not spill out quickly enough.

 Mongoose-quick, Shea was there to turn the blade aside, pulling the assailant further forward by his arm. Overbalanced, he was sent stumbling to the ground behind his attempted target. As the thief dragged himself to his feet, the knife was all but forgotten in his haste for flight. Shea meant to give him another taste, but the Doctor's gentle hand upon her shoulder broke her concentration somewhat. Her head whipped round to face the new opponent, the excitement of battle still upon her. The Doctor's smile melted through her wrath until it abated to nothing, once she recognised him. Benny, feeling left out, gave the thief a kick in the pants as he blundered past her towards the exit.

 "Where did you learn to move like that?" the Doctor asked her, seeing more than a shade of Leela, the Sevateem warrior woman in her demeanour.

 "My ex-husband. Clark taught me pretty much all I know. Judo, ju-jitsu, a little karate..."

 "You really are an all-rounder! Ex-husband, you say?" The Doctor was intrigued that in this day and age there should be a man so enlightened, and wondered if their paths had crossed before.

 "That's right. I haven't seen him for years. Not that there was anything new about that. He was always off finding hidden kingdoms or something. Half the time, I studied because there was nothing else to do. When I realised this wasn't the life I wanted, we had to go our separate ways. It ended... badly." The Doctor couldn't help but think of Ace, just for a moment, before he stifled it. Shea shook off the lingering memories and moved on. "Anyway, enough of my sordid little past! Do either of you comprehend glyphs?"

 And then the green gave way to something else; something... other. Although immediately familiar to the professor, finding an Egyptian pyramid in the Amazon basin pulled him up as sharply as if he had run straight into it. It was monstrous. Larger than any on record, and certainly not constructed of local materials. No Maya, Aztec or Inca built this. How was it possible? It was as if someone had flown it here, borne out by the way the undergrowth around it had been crushed underfoot. Indy found his intellectual curiosity welling up, despite his instinct to leave well enough alone. Why break the habit of a lifetime, he thought as he made a beeline for the entrance. Not that he had been able to tell over the roar of the jungle, but he was fairly sure that he had managed to lose his pursuers. As he stepped inside the pyramid, it occurred to him that not only could he no longer hear the calls of the hunters to one another; it was as if the jungle itself fell silent in the presence of the pyramid.

 "Osiran acoustics, my dear. All their constructions rely upon it. That's why they can employ materials like this stone--" He brushed a wall with his fingertips, "and yet, it is far stronger than your common or garden rock. It does rather rely upon a steady influx of visitors to top it up though. Wasted on a tomb, of course. I rather think that they miscalculated their importance in the grand scheme. Like poor Ozymandius, their legacy has been condemned to the lone and level sands..."

 "Or jungle in this case." Benny challenged, hoping that she had headed off one of the Doctor's poetic monologues.

 "Doctor? Professor? What do you make of this?" Cleo Shea had been examining the sarcophagus from which their assailant had sprung. It did not look as if he had forced his way inside, but there was nothing in there now. From the shaped interior, it was definitely designed to hold a body, but the contours suggested a shape more akin to a body-builder than the usual mummified hand-servant.

 "It's empty. I suppose our friend was in the process of looting the place." The Doctor kept his own counsel and allowed Professor Shea to form her own hypothesis. However well-read she was, he doubted that she was ready for the full extra-terrestrial truth about the Osirans.

 The interior of the sarcophagus was decorated with gold tracings in an ornate design, recognisable only to the Doctor and Bernice as alien microcircuitry for the maintenance of the Osiran service robots, when they were not required to walk abroad, enforcing their masters' will over the Egyptians. This one appeared to have been damaged. Some of the circuitry had been scarred and defaced, rendering it next to useless. Perhaps that was what the tomb robber had been doing when they interrupted him.

 "Bernice? Would you go and have a look in that storage box by the far wall? If my Egyptology isn't too rusty, I'd say it was to hold the canopic jars. I'd be extremely interested to know what our hosts chose to fill them with, given the lack of humans to perform the mummification rites upon." The Doctor continued to examine the sarcophagi, prying and running his fingers along the seam, trying to determine how one might open them, short of a can of nitro-nine. His eyes alit on the decorative face gazing sightlessly from each lid. There were the stylised Egyptian features, as you would expect, but he also noticed that representations of jewellery had been painstakingly carved around each throat. The effect would have been breathtakingly realistic, were it not for the fact that part of the design was missing, or at least recessed into the lid, while the rest stood in proud relief. Could it have been a mistake on the part of the artisans? Unlikely, given the attention to detail given to the rest of the lid. Then a singular notion came to him; what if there was meant to be a real necklace upon the lid? His palms began to tingle, a sure sign that he was on the right lines, or was that just indigestion?

 Bernice approached the storage box which would contain the canopic jars for whoever was meant to be enshrined here, a jaunty spring in her step. This was better than the previous digs she'd been on. All that shovelling and careful brushing away of dirt, never allowed to touch history, merely to record it. And now, Bernice was in the fortunate position of being able to experience history while it was still breathing. What a rush! This would require more than a handful of journal entries. This warranted a whole book to itself, at least. When she finally tired of travelling with this wonderful, terrible enigma of a man, (should that day ever come to pass...) she would be able to dine well off her adventures in the halls of academia, and never have to buy a round again. She fought back her excitement in order to check the box thoroughly before attempting to open it. The lid was adorned with a decorative jackal; Anubis awaiting the dead to go to judgement. A frieze decorated the lower part of the box, showing a penitent man at prayer, typical of the New Kingdom period. There were no breathing holes where a poisonous thorn could be projected, should she get this wrong. Benny could not tear her eyes from the baleful gaze of Anubis. For a statue, he gave her the willies. She plucked off her fedora, and plonked the hat over the jackal's head. Another problem solved.

 With the rest of her examination a formality, Benny began to slide the stone lid across, trying to remain as far from the opening as she could, in case of hidden peril. The lid moved surprisingly smoothly for such a large block of stone. Chalk up another one to Osiran engineering. When she was sure that no alien facehugger or cloud of retroviral nanoplague was forthcoming, she took a peek over the rim. Four surprisingly ordinary canopic jars greeted her. They had been shaped in the representations of Horus' four sons; Imsety, Hapy, Duamutef and Bashful. Okay, not the last one. That was Qebehsenuef, guardian of the intestines. Benny mulled over which of the jars to open. This was too important an occasion to leave it up to chance, so eenie-meenie-miney-mo was out for a start. Liver, lungs, stomach or intestines? It was a tricky decision to make. They all sounded so appetising. In the end, she settled for Imsety, because he was the only one whose features looked remotely human. Carefully using a penknife to dig at the wax seal, she was surprised by the lack of shrivelled human tissue within. Instead, there was some kind of servo motor, presumably connected to the Osiran service robots.

 "It's some kind of spare parts box!" Benny confided in the Doctor, far too loudly for his liking, since it drew Cleo Shea over as well. Inevitably, there were questions, which the Doctor decided to bite the bullet and tell her the truth about. She took the news better than he had expected.

 "It seems the sleeping prophet has it right after all." She smiled to herself at this, assuming the others' ignorance.

 "I wouldn't believe everything that comes out of dreams. Edgar Cayce may have seen glimpses of a pre-Egyptian culture, but I imagine that many of his visions came out of a bottle." The Doctor was unimpressed.

 Cleo examined the mass of wires and mechanisms previously housed in the canopic jars, and seemed to find something she recognised.

 "Please continue with your explorations Doctor. I must go and check on my party. The tribesmen get a little excitable if I do not check on them from time to time." Shea had absent-mindedly picked up one of the mechanisms from the jars, and left the great chamber, the sound of her footfalls swallowed immediately by the Osiran edifice.

 What do you think THAT was about?" Benny quizzed the Doctor, without any real expectation of an answer.

 "I haven't the foggiest," he conceded. "Let's do as she said anyway. I think we should find a way to make sure that Time Corridor remains inactive, and I have a suspicion that our friend Cleo wouldn't approve."

 "I have a suspicion of my own. Was it just me, or did you get the impression that you didn't tell her anything she didn't already know?"

 "Bernice Summerfield! You are a cynical individual, and no mistake, and I wish you were wrong." The Doctor had his serious face on. Bernice took that as a sign to shut up and let him get on with what he did best. The Doctor was frustrated, she could see. He had disparate parts of the puzzle, but none that fitted together yet. From what little he'd told her about Sutekh, the last thing they needed was to come across another Osiran, hale and hearty, and ready to retake his empire.

 "Am I missing something Doctor? The Osirans are all dead...aren't they? Where's the threat?"

 "Where the Osirans are concerned, anything is possible. If there is a Time Corridor in that sarcophagus, who knows what era it may link with. We know where, but for all we know, it could lead to the heyday of the Osiran Empire, and open up another avenue of conquest for them, unless we destroy it now." The Doctor's passion, as was often the case, was accompanied by gesticulations.

 We could do with a hand from Ace about now. I don't suppose you confiscated any of her weapons of mass destruction?" Benny attempted to lighten the atmosphere, though mentioning their former travelling companion was probably a mistake so soon after their parting.

 "I'm afraid not," the Doctor answered grimly. "It looks like we have to do this the hard way."

 Another thing he noticed. The air within was all wrong. He knew that the locale would hardly produce the dry heat of Egypt, but this was nothing like the temples of the Maya either. It was difficult to pin down, but it seemed... well, synthetic; processed or something. Aside from the odour of his own sweat, he could smell nothing to indicate that anyone had ever left a mark on the place. That and the deathly silence was enough to set off his alarm bells. As Indy approached the great chamber, he saw the flickering of lamplight, though there was no breeze to speak of. He saw a shadow flit across the light, and was aware of one or more figures within. He cursed the missed opportunity to retrieve his gun before he fled. As he watched, he was pleased to note that at least they weren't wearing Nazi uniforms, and there didn't appear to be any snake pits, which was always a good sign.

 "In for a penny..." Indy thought, and stepped into the chamber where the two archaeologists could see him. "Hurrumph!" He cleared his throat in announcement. Benny jumped, and immediately tried to cover it up with a stretch. The Doctor had no noticeable reaction to the intruder, save for a surreptitious look at his pocket watch.

 "Can we help you?" The Doctor peered at him over the top of his pince-nez.

 Indy straightened himself up, tucking his shirt into his trousers in an attempt to look a little more reputable.

 "I seem to have lost my tour guide. You know how it is..." He did his best to appear calm, but his experiences at the hands of Captain Zeitflur and after had left their mark. Indy was practically dead on his feet. His vision started to fade and Benny's face swam before his eyes. As his knees gave out, his last recollection was the battered fedora she was wearing.

 "Nice hat..." he thought, and he was away.

 "Hello! I'm the Doctor, and this is my friend Bernice, blah-de-blah-de-blah..."

 Indy felt reasonably comfortable among them, but this Doctor was obviously nuts. Experience had also taught him that other archaeologists were never to be taken at face value. Rene Belloq taught him that. After they had been chatting a while about trivialities, he played his gambit.

 "Sprechen sie Deutsch?"

 "Not really. Why do you ask?" Benny answered without pause. Indy winced, his worst fears confirmed, or so he thought.

 The Doctor stepped in, whispering an aside to Benny that Jones had spoken in German. He wasn't to know about the TARDIS' gift of translation.

 "Doctor Jones! I know what you're thinking, but you're adding two and two to make seven. That was a test, am I right?" Jones remained tight-lipped. The Doctor took a breath before launching into his speech.

 "Let me see now, it's 1939 and a high proportion of the world's archaeological digs are on behalf of a certain little tyrant... It's an easy mistake to make, but I can assure you that none of us are working for the Germans..."

 "Speak for yourself!" Cleo Shea stepped out of the shadows into the guttering lantern-light, her approach completely muffled by the pyramids. She held a Luger in a manner that suggested that marksmanship was another of her many talents. "Clark would be disappointed by my career change, but noble ideals don't pay the bills, especially when you get through as many shirts as he does." She turned her attention to Indiana, whose face blossomed with recognition. "My, my, Doctor Jones. The world is truly a lot smaller than you imagine, is it not?"

 Indy observed the redhead with a penchant for jewellery from the incident at Waterfield that had brought him to Brazil in the first place.

 "Give me the necklace and we can all go home." Jones held out an open hand hopefully, though without conviction.

 "After all the trouble I took to secure it? I think not. Besides, I do not see that you are in any position to issue demands, as it is I who holds the gun."

 "Then at least you could tell us what you need it for." Indy attempted to stall for time until a cunning plan or a deus ex machina could get them out of this jam.

 The Doctor chirped in to interrupt. "Oh, I can tell you that. Without it, she won't be able to open the..."

 "Enough! You can take whatever you have discovered to your graves. I have more important work to do."

 The gun flared and thunder filled the chamber, but just for a moment.

 OUR NEXT THRILLING INSTALMENT: SPEEDING BULLETS