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CHAPTER FIVE He wandered through the caverns of Mount Megeshra, slowly working his way up to the citadel. There was no doubting that he was alien to Peladon, despite the fact that he made his way with a definite direction in mind. He did not stop to consider which turnings to take; he simply took each new tunnel entrance as he came to them. It was his appearance that gave away his non-Pel nature. He was middle-aged, his light brown hair greying in places. Unlike the Pels, though, he did not have a skunk-like grey stripe in his hair. His face was slightly worn with age, yet there was a spark of life in his eyes that would have put the most youthful person to shame. His clothes were also unlike anything found on Peladon. They were machine made, with materials too soft and expensive for the harsh world on which he stood. He wore neatly ironed black trousers, into which was tucked a white shirt. Over the shirt he wore a black blazer - there was a small pale yellow six-pronged flower attached to the breast pocket. Around the neck he wore a black cravat, loosely hung as if he was in a rush when he put it on. He stopped, took a deep breath and smiled. ‘Ah yes. Not far now I think,’ he said, with a hint of a lisp in his voice, and continued on. Within moments he had come to a dead end. He stopped and looked around, rubbing his ear and biting his top lip. ‘Now then, where is that secret door?’ He walked towards the dead end and placed his hands against the cold rock. With the delicacy of a clock-mender he ran his hands over the wall until finally they came to rest on a small patch of rock that was both warm and humming. The man clapped his hands in delight and then tensed as the sound echoed down the tunnel from which he had come. He glanced around, checking for any signs that he had been heard. Satisfied that he was not the man turned back to the wall and his face fell. ‘Ah.’ He breathed with a perplexed expression etched across his face. He rubbed his hands together, cocking his head to one side. ’Whoops? Well, not whoops. But, well... Yes, whoops. That does seem to cover every angle doesn't it?' Standing before the man were two Pels. He attempted a smile, but his good humour was not returned. Both Pels removed their swords from their belts and advanced on him. He held his hands up. ‘Maybe we could sit down and try a hand of Black Jack and talk about this?’ One of the Pels pointed his sword at the man. ‘Who are you, and how are you aware of the secret entrances into the citadel?’ ‘Secret entrances? What secret entrances? Oh, you mean one of those!’ He pointed at the hole in the wall behind the two Pels. ‘Well, maybe one of the Royal Guards told me about them?’ he asked, hopefully. The Pel guards were not amused. He coughed and cleared his throat, deciding to start again. ‘Well, nice to have easy questions for a change.’ He held out his hand. ‘I am the special envoy from the Galactic Federation, by the way. King Garet knows me.’ The nearest Pel guard looked down at the offered hand, as if he wanted to spit on it. ‘If you are a delegate from the Galactic Federation why have you not arrived in the shuttle with the others?’ The man glanced up, as if he could see through the rock above. ‘The delegation has arrived?’ ‘Yes. King Garet has gone to greet them.’ The smile faded and the black-clad alien stepped forward. ‘We’ve got to get up there now!’ he said forcefully. The Pel barred his way with the sword. The man shook his head, glancing down at the sword in disgust. ‘There is no time for this.’ With unexpected speed, he sidestepped the sword and rushed towards the citadel entrance. The second Pel guard moved forward and raised his sword. The man came to an abrupt halt, and glanced down at the sword, feeling the sharp tip digging in to his neck. ‘Peladon is in great danger,’ he said imploringly. ‘What do you mean?’ asked the second Pel, maintaining the pressure of his sword from the man’s neck. ‘I mean that I am late. The delegation is not from the Galactic Federation!’ The first Pel grabbed the man roughly by the arm. ‘You are lying. The Galactic Federation has come to aid us. You will come and see Chancellor Howerts, and then we shall get the truth out of you.’ The man sighed but allowed himself to be taken into the citadel. Alf stood behind the pilot and watched the image on the view screen. Her heart felt light and warm, like she was coming home from a long journey. (Which I am in a way, she realised.) As the Martian ship continued on, the black vista of space spread out before them. In the distance Alf could make out an opaque little planet. She smiled, knowing full well what the planet was. Pluto. Which to her meant they were entering the Sol System - home to the one time planet Earth, and the present heart of the Martian Empire. The last time she entered this system in a starship was to fight a war against the Cybermen. A small part in the massive fleet made up from Federation and Martian ships. But this time she was coming in to the Sol System for a mission that was not so grand. Although, as she well knew, both missions were connected. She looked down at the pilot. ‘Have you lot ever thought of settling on Pluto? A nice cold planet like that would be ideal for your race.’ The Martian pilot glanced up. ‘Why would we chose to do that? Mars is our home. We need no other.’ He returned his attention to the screen before him and Alf shrugged. She turned away to face the aft deck where Nick and Vlaash were sitting. She could not deny that the ship belonged to Vlaash, a high priest in the Order of Oras. Everything about the interior spoke of holiness, stillness and religious conviction. With the exception of the pilot’s deck all technology was hidden away behind drapes or under stone altars. Soft shadows danced across the tapestries, cast by the many candles that littered the aft deck. Vlaash was sitting on the floor, before a small shrine. Nick was sitting next to the priest, his eyes closed and his lips moving in time with those of Vlaash. Alf was puzzled. She had never considered Nick to be the religious type. She almost felt guilty entering the aft deck, not wanting to disturb whatever new experience Nick was indulging himself in. She understood that he was trying to deal with his loss, made even more difficult by the fact that Nick had believed the Doctor to be dead once before. She wanted to know more about the business with the clone, but at the same time she did not want to open Nick’s wounds further. So she elected to save the questions until later. For now all she wanted was someone to talk to, and the pilot was not going to be that person. Alf straightened her new leather jacket and entered the aft deck, politely clearing her throat before speaking. ‘What’s going on here, then?’ Nick opened his eyes and turned to look at Alf. He smiled softly, but Alf noticed the doubt in his eyes. ‘Vlaash is teaching me the shaavrtzae.’ Alf raised an eyebrow. ‘The what?’ Vlaash stood up and turned to her. His diminutive figure made Alf smile. There was something very unusual about seeing a Martian as short as Vlaash. ‘The shaavrtzae is an old practice studied by the Order of Oras. It allows us to clear our mind and focus on...’ ‘Got ya,’ Alf said quickly. Nick frowned. ‘It was working, Alf.’ ‘I believe you. It’s just that I...’ Alf looked at Vlaash and shrugged. ‘You know how it is, Vlaash. Religion holds no interest for me.’ Vlaash bowed his head. ‘I understand, Alf. Even during our short acquaintance on Alpha Centauri you held no interest in Martian religion. Indeed my own interest waned a little. The war changed all that.’ He looked at Nick. ‘However Nick has been the most curious individual.’ Alf smiled. ‘Yeah, it’s his gift.’ She winked at Nick. ‘He can be most curious.’ Nick blushed and turned away. Alf laughed, and Vlaash looked from one to the other not sure he had understood the exchange. He was about to enquire what it had meant when the pilot shouted out. ‘Battle stations!’ ‘We don’t have battle stations,’ Vlaash said. The pilot glanced back at the high priest. ‘I know!’ he yelled. ‘But we need them now.’ Without even thinking Alf ran over to see what the pilot was looking at. Nick and Vlaash came up behind her. Vlaash let out a startled gasp and Nick said; ‘Oh shit.’ On the view screen, just before Saturn, were four Martian warships. Everyone on the pilot’s deck was very aware of the warships’ design, having seen them in battle during the Cyber war. And they all knew what the warships were capable of. ‘This is absurd. Do they not know that I am returning to Mars at the behest of Emperor Izlyr himself?’ Alf glanced back at Vlaash. ‘Something tells me that whoever is in charge of that small squadron doesn’t give a toss.’ She turned back to the pilot. ‘What weapons system does this crate have?’ The pilot shook his head. ‘Nothing that can withstand an attack by four Martian warships.’ ‘This is just bloody great!’ Nick walked off the pilot’s deck and approached the shrine. ‘So much for clearing my mind.’ He looked back and Alf was shocked by the amount of anger in his eyes. ‘Death is certainly one way to clear the mind.’ Vlaash turned from the pilot’s deck. ‘Nick, be at peace. We will find a way out of this.’ ‘Yeah? How? Maybe we should chuck a white hankie out of the airlock and hope they accept our surrender.’ Alf shook her head. Partly due to Nick’s bitterness, and partly due to the hopelessness of the situation. It was a fair bet that whoever was responsible for stirring up trouble with Peladon and the Martian Empire was responsible for the warships. Which meant bad news for them all. Alf turned back to the view screen. ‘O-oh.’ She pointed at the warships. ‘Tell me those are not weapons coming to bear?’ The pilot looked at the image intently, then let out a loud hiss. ‘They are.’
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