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Xzalnyr glanced down at his leather like skin. The armour that formed a shell around his upper body had been broken apart, revealing his green flesh beneath. Wounds were open all over his chest, from the thin but very sharp blades carried by the Chosen Ones who stood before him. He looked up from his injuries and glared at the so-called Martian warriors. ‘I thought the Chosen Ones were supposed to have more honour than your average warrior. Better trained, is that not so?’ The Chosen Ones looked at each other, unsure of how to respond. They did not need to. Their team leader spoke instead. He was leaning against the far wall, watching the torture of Xzalnyr with much pleasure. ‘We are more highly trained that the Emperor’s personal guards. Makes us more effective at extracting information from traitors.’ Xzalnyr hissed. ‘It is the Chosen Ones who are the traitors!’ The team leader waved a clamped hand. ‘Say what you like, Xzalnyr. The Chosen Ones will restore Mars to its former glory. Then you will see that we are right.’ He indicated the Chosen Ones before Xzalnyr. ‘Get the lance. We shall then see how mighty this Honour Guard is!’ Xzalnyr struggled against his bonds, but it was no use. Although they had began to slacken a little, still there was not enough room to free himself. He closed his narrow eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened them again one of the Chosen Ones walked towards him carrying the lance. The tip of the lance hissed as smoke seeped from it. It was an ion lance, used to terminate the lives of the old and infirm Martians - giving them a way to escape life with their honour intact. Xzalnyr was neither old nor infirm, but then, the Chosen Ones did not wish to kill him yet. They simply wanted information. ‘Now you will tell us the names of all those that you command.’ Xzalnyr shook his head. ‘I will tell you nothing,’ he breathed. The team leader shook his own head, as if he were mimicking his prisoner. ‘Such foolish bravado. You are impressing no one, Xzalnyr.’ He motioned the Martian holding the lance. ‘Proceed.’ The lance pierced Xzalnyr’s skin with the minimum of effort. He clamped his jaw closed, refusing to scream out as the heat seared through his body. Like all his people, Xzalnyr’s body had evolved to survive the cold air of Mars. Often he had heard his people called “Ice Warriors”, and that term was not without reason. The Martians thrived in low temperatures. The heat of the ion lance was proving to be more than his body could bear. Despite all this Xzalnyr opened his eyes. There was a film of water over them, making the anger and hate even more evident than before. He focused on the team leader, staring at him in defiance. ‘Enough of this!’ hissed a loud, commanding voice. The Chosen Ones turned to the door and bowed as Marshall Wellarzlee entered. He looked around the room, taking in his warriors, his eyes coming to rest on the weakened form of Xzalnyr. A slight smile played upon his lips for a moment, and then it was gone. ‘Commander Xzalnyr will not give in to torture, Sub-Commander,’ he said, addressing the team leader. ‘He has a highly developed sense of honour, even if it is misplaced.’ Wellarzlee glanced around the room. ‘Leave me with him.’ The Chosen Ones bowed and left the room. Once they had gone Wellarzlee walked over to Xzalnyr, moving slowly but deliberately. ‘Commander, I am no longer interested in who you have under your command. The traitors will soon be found and killed. I only want to know one thing from you.’ ‘What makes you think I will tell you?’ Xzalnyr asked through gasps of cold air. ‘We should be on the same side, Commander. Not fighting. The Martian Empire should be united.’ Wellarzlee shook his head sadly. ‘But since we are not, all I require is that you tell me one simple thing.’ He came to a stop directly in front of Xzalnyr and stretched out a hand. ‘Who else knows about the coup on Peladon?’ He probed Xzalnyr’s open wound. ‘I am quite impressed at how quickly you managed to get the Galactic Federation involved.’ Xzalnyr ignored the pain, wondering instead just what Wellarzlee was talking about. The Galactic Federation was not yet involved. Indeed that is why he had asked Vlaash to contact the Doctor. If the Draconian Ambassador could be convinced of the threat to Peladon and the whole Federation, then maybe he would convince the Galactic Federation. That was why he had the two humans on Mars now. Xzalnyr had no intention of telling Wellarzlee that, though. If the mad Marshalll wanted to believe the Federation knew, then all the better. Wellarzlee tutted, as he realised that Xzalnyr was not going to say a word. ‘It will not help, Commander. Let the Galactic Federation become involved. They will discover the same thing that Izlyr is about to learn. Under my leadership the Martian Empire will not be defeated so easily.’ With one last stab at Xzalnyr’s open wound, Wellarzlee turned and left the room. Chancellor Howerts was still unsure whether or not to trust the man in the black clothes. Certainly the King seemed to, but then again King Garet’s father was the one who trusted the Martians in the first place. However, the “Doctor” (if that’s who he really was) did know his way about the secret passages of the citadel. ‘As personal advisor to the King, Doctor, I make it my business to know about all the passages throughout Mount Megeshra - in case we should get invaded and the need arises to get His Majesty to safety.’ The “Doctor” glanced back with half a smile. ‘Like now you mean? Your knowledge of these passages hasn’t done much good this time, has it?’ Howerts cleared his throat. ‘But,’ he said, ignoring the jibe, ‘I have never been up this passage before.’ ‘No doubt,’ was the reply. They came to the end of the passage, only to find the way barred by a block of stone. The “Doctor” straightened out his black jacket and turned to King Garet. ‘Do you know where we are?’ Garet nodded. ‘Yes. My father showed me this entrance when I was a child.’ Howerts folded his arms. ‘Well I have never seen it.’ The “Doctor” shook his head and tutted. ‘I can’t imagine why,’ he said, with mock severity. He turned back to Garet. ‘Do you know how to open it?’ The King nodded and stepped towards the block. The two guards glanced at each other, as if unsure what to do. Suddenly one of them stepped forward and blocked the King’s way. ‘Sire, forgive me, but if there is a room beyond that block, then maybe there will be Martians too.’ The “Doctor” pushed his way passed the guards and the king. ‘A valid point to be sure.’ He rummaged about in his jacket pockets and pulled out a long tube. At one end there was a flat piece of metal. The other end forked off into two separate endings. The “Doctor” noticed the curious glances from the Pels. ‘It is a stethoscope. Used on Earth to check the heart beat. But for now it will help us determined whether there are any Martians in the communications room.’ ‘The communications room?’ Howerts stepped forward. ’You intend to contact the Galactic Federation?’ The “Doctor” waved him to be quiet. He pressed the flat metal of the stethoscope against the block of stone and listened. ‘I can hear at least one Martian in there,’ he whispered. ‘Martian breathing is very distinctive. How big is the room?’ ‘Half the size of the throne room,’ King Garet answered. ‘About ten feet by eight feet, then.’ The “Doctor” rubbed his earlobe. ‘Well, judging by his breathing I would say that the Martian is at the far end of the room. I assume the communication console is near this entrance?’ ‘It is right next to it.’ ‘Brilliant!’ The “Doctor” shoved the stethoscope into a pocket and addressed his band of men. ‘When we enter there you two,’ he indicated the guards, ‘will need to distract the Martian. But be warned, even on his own a Martian warrior is not easily defeated. I will attempt to contact the Galactic Federation fleet that is heading towards Peladon.’ ‘And what will I do?’ Howerts asked, sounding like a child who had been left out of a particularly nice game. ‘You will protect the King,’ the “Doctor” said.
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