Doctor Who_ Theatre Of War Part 16

Braxiatel started walking again. She kept pace with him as they pa.s.sed the first of the small pools lining the avenue. In the centre two stone cherubs supported the base of a fountain from which white water cascaded around them.

'I think "won't" is a little unfair.' He did not look at her as he said it. '"Can't" would be more justifiable.'

'But you won't even try.'

'You know, each of the fountains along this avenue looks the same from any point in the avenue. But when you actually get close enough to see through the water which splashes down around them, you find that each is different from the last, and no two designs are repeated. Cherubs Cherubs back there,' he pointed back, 'and back there,' he pointed back, 'and Angels Angels next. Those are their names. They all have names.' He nodded across at a fountain diagonal from them. From where they were it looked like all the others, stone surrounded by a curtain of water. next. Those are their names. They all have names.' He nodded across at a fountain diagonal from them. From where they were it looked like all the others, stone surrounded by a curtain of water.

'I a.s.sume there's some point to this I mean, as a way of subtly changing the subject it does lack a certain finesse.'

He seemed not to hear her. 'That one is actually the G.o.d Neptune, trident in one hand, water jet raised in the other. From here he looks just like any other fountain, but unlike the characters and beasts in the others, he is absolutely in his element.'

'Of course.' Benny stopped suddenly and slapped her hand to her forehead. 'The Neptune factor I should have known.' I should have known.'

But Braxiatel was not amused. He walked on in silence. 'Okay, okay. I do understand really. You're saying that the Doctor doesn't need your help anyway. And maybe you're right. But what if you're not? What if he's changed since you knew him?'

'I think that is extremely likely,' Braxiatel said. 'But he will still be in his element.'

'So you're not worried?'

'Yes, I'm worried. Because he won't have changed s much he can resist a mystery.'

'Why should that worry you?' They were reaching the end of the avenue now. The sun was dipping behind the Mansionhouse, lengthening the shadows around them.

'We'll cut back through the Orangery,' Braxiatel decided. 'We can be back in the Mansionhouse before it lets dark.'

'And then what?'

'Then we'll find you a s.h.i.+p.'

'You're getting rid of me? Sending me off before I can find out what's going on?'

Braxiatel laughed. His laugh was quiet, almost restrained, yet it rang across the grounds ahead of them. 'Oh no. I'm sending you off before the Doctor the Doctor can find out what's going on. I want you to take him a message.' can find out what's going on. I want you to take him a message.'

'To Menaxus?'

'No, he won't be going back there. To Heletia.'

'Let me get this straight.' They had reached the end of the path. The last fountain was on their right and the path bent away to the left, doubling back through the Orangery. 'You want me to fly through a war and take a message to the Doctor.'

'We'll get you safely through most of it. Getting past the Heletian home defence lines might be a little tricky though.'

They had stopped again. Benny was talking loudly, partly in anger, partly to be heard above the sound of the fountain beside them.

'Oh thank you. Thank you very much. And what do I get in return?'

'In return? You get to help the Doctor you were keen for me to help him, I a.s.sume you apply the same standards to yourself.'

She glared at him.

'I'll tell you what's going on, although I think you probably know a lot of it already, it's just that your brain won't let you believe it.'

'And what then? What happens after the Doctor gets your message?'.

'Ah.' Braxiatel stepped aside and pointed at the last fountain, 'I told you every fountain in the avenue was unique.'

'You did, yes. I can retain information for a whole hour sometimes.'

'I'm pleased to hear it. So what would you say this statue was?'

Benny stared at the water, trying to discern the shape beyond it. She could see what looked like a straight pillar of stone, but the fading light made it impossible to see any detail, 'It s just a piece of stone, isn't it?'

He laughed again. 'No, it's not just just a piece of stone. All the other fountains were like this one before they were carved. This one is still the original plinth, waiting for the sculpter's chisel. One day it will be a statue like all the others bird, beast, man, whatever. But at the moment it is unformed; potential; the real statue is still hidden within.' a piece of stone. All the other fountains were like this one before they were carved. This one is still the original plinth, waiting for the sculpter's chisel. One day it will be a statue like all the others bird, beast, man, whatever. But at the moment it is unformed; potential; the real statue is still hidden within.'

'You said they all had names.'

'You, remember that too?' He smiled. 'This one is called Future Future.'

Source Doc.u.ment 10 Extract from the Heletian Weaponry Handbook Heletian Weaponry Handbook, section covering High*Impact Phason Bolters The weapon rifles the sh.e.l.l for increased accuracy. The phason charge itself is covered with detonation bolters. Only one of these needs to make contact with the target for the detonating explosion to fire.

The main phason charge is exploded within the containment vessel. The heat and gas are restricted by the surrounding duralinium until the pressure exceeds the metal's limits or (more frequently) the casing joints give way. In either case, the vessel fragments, the pieces and the internal blast are channelled in the direction of least resistance. This is through the bolter cap which detonated that is, the one in contact with the target.

The gases, now released from pressure, force the surrounding air outwards as they expand (if used within an atmosphere) at a speed of approximately 4,700 metres per second. In a vacuum, there is no atmospheric resistance to the blast.

Detonation of the phason is almost instantaneous, and has been timed at 11,000 metres per second.

Operated by an expert and fired directly at a point on the hull in direct line with the s.h.i.+p's magazine, a single charge from a high*impact phason bolter can bring down a battle cruiser. Given the range of the weapon and the extent of the resulting blast, in this situation the death of the operator is almost instantaneous.

Chapter 10.

The Revenger's Tragedy The few short extracts that do exist from The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers are almost certainly not original or genuine. The fact that the play was so widely acclaimed when first performed and has such a reputation now implies that it must have been of a considerably higher standard than those extracts exhibit. are almost certainly not original or genuine. The fact that the play was so widely acclaimed when first performed and has such a reputation now implies that it must have been of a considerably higher standard than those extracts exhibit.How and where these extracts originated cannot be confirmed, of course, but we can speculate. They are almost certainly from a copy*cat version of the play performed somewhere among the frontier worlds. A similar version of Hamlet Hamlet exists complete from such a performance contemporary with its original staging. In the case of exists complete from such a performance contemporary with its original staging. In the case of Hamlet Hamlet, the ma.n.u.script originates in Terran Germany. A travelling troupe of English players touring the German courts offered its usual repertoire to one German prince. He demanded instead to see a performance of Hamlet Hamlet, of which he had heard good reports.The troupe duly wrote a script for Hamlet Hamlet that night, helped by the memory of one of their number who had actually seen the play, and by copious quant.i.ties of German beer. They then learned their lines and staged the forty*minute play the following evening. The version that has survived is actually an English translation of a German courtier's transcription of that performance. Since the performance was given in English, and the courtier transcribed it into German as he wrote, the ma.n.u.script itself is two translations removed from the second*hand interpretation from memory. that night, helped by the memory of one of their number who had actually seen the play, and by copious quant.i.ties of German beer. They then learned their lines and staged the forty*minute play the following evening. The version that has survived is actually an English translation of a German courtier's transcription of that performance. Since the performance was given in English, and the courtier transcribed it into German as he wrote, the ma.n.u.script itself is two translations removed from the second*hand interpretation from memory.One can suppose that a similar transition has befallen the surviving remnants of The Good Soldiers The Good Soldiers. To get an idea of how different the original may have been, we can compare the language of the German Hamlet Hamlet with that of Shakespeare's. Would Hamlet have achieved the reputation it has if the original had actually included such poetic lines as Hamlet's 'To be or not ay, there s the rub or Marcello's fateful warning of the uneasy spirit of Hamlet's father: 'My Lord, there is a ghost doth walk these battlements every quarter of an hour'? with that of Shakespeare's. Would Hamlet have achieved the reputation it has if the original had actually included such poetic lines as Hamlet's 'To be or not ay, there s the rub or Marcello's fateful warning of the uneasy spirit of Hamlet's father: 'My Lord, there is a ghost doth walk these battlements every quarter of an hour'?Osterling's Legacy Azcline Grigsen, 3498 Azcline Grigsen, 3498 The cruiser was gaining on them. Not fast, but little by little it was edging closer. They had narrowly escaped several missiles but it was only a matter of time before the Rippearean s.h.i.+p held the Icoronata Icoronata within its detectors for long enough to get an accurate shot. Unless it got lucky enough to hit with a ranging blast first. within its detectors for long enough to get an accurate shot. Unless it got lucky enough to hit with a ranging blast first.

They had managed to go for several minutes without even a faint ping from the enemy bouncing off their hull when Ace finally snapped. 'Right that's it,' she proclaimed, marching down to the door.

'Ace where are you going?' Fortalexa called after her. The Doctor shook his head silently and went on with his calculations, Then she was gone.

It did not take Ace long to make her way back to the store*room and find what she was after. She had just finished her rushed preparations, adjusting the gauntlets and slinging the shoulder strap over her head, when another blast caught them and she was flung out of the armoury and across the corridor, the heavy weight on her back carrying her into the wall. Cursing, she set off back to the control deck.

'Right, let's sort these drongos out.' The voice came from the doorway. Klasvik had to turn to see. He was barely aware of Lannic mirroring his movements as he twisted round in the chair, hands still clenched on the arms.

Ace was standing silhouetted in the doorway. She was wearing a s.p.a.cesuit, carrying the helmet under her left arm. She had tied her hair back out of the way so that the helmet would not be impeded by it or catch it when she turned her head. Over her shoulder was slung a high*impact phason bolter, its huge muzzle rising high above her head.

'Ace, what are you doing?' the Doctor asked. Everyone else was still staring open*mouthed at her. Even Lefkhani had turned, sensing something was happening in the world outside the flight computer.

'I'm sick of this, Doctor. We're not going to outrun those guys or hide from them for long.'

'S'blood ' Fortalexa was alerted by a warning bleep from his console. 'Incoming looks close.'

'Drop seventeen, fast.' The Doctor spoke without looking at the chart. He was still watching Ace.

Klasvik felt his stomach heave as the s.h.i.+p dropped suddenly from beneath him. He and Lannic strained at the straps on their chairs, Fortalexa and Lefkhani leaned forward against their harnesses. Ace and the Doctor staggered slightly, then they were flung together as the blast caught them and the s.h.i.+p shuddered under the impact. They sprawled across the console next to Klasvik, arms locked as they each tried to prevent the other from falling.

'You're sure about this, Ace?' Klasvik heard the Doctor ask quietly as the shock*wave subsided.

'Doctor, I'm going to do it,' she told him.

'Are we safe for a moment?' the Doctor called to Fortalexa.

He listened for a second, checking the console. 'Look like they lost us in the wake of that. We should have a minute or so.'

'Good.' The Doctor was at the chart, jabbing his finger at a blob which represented an asteroid. 'I'm going to bring us round the back of this one.'

'Why? That will slow us down we should be getting out of this sector before they quarter it, they're bound to see us when we emerge from occlusion.

'Exactly.'

'I'm not with you.'

'Nor will Ace be. We'll drop her off as we round it here.' He pointed to one edge of the blob. Then when we emerge, the Rippearean will come to here. His finger traced back to a point where the cruiser would have a clear shot at them as they emerged from behind the asteroid.

It was also in direct line of where the Doctor had suggested they drop Ace. 'And then blam blam,' she said.

'You're mad!' Fortalexa was staring in disbelief at the chart. 'Even if the cruiser actually ends up where you say it will there's no guarantee they won't get a shot off before Ace does. And if they don't, we'll all get blasted to bits when their magazine goes up anyway.'

'Do you have a better suggestion, Mister Strategy?'

Fortalexa said nothing.

'We are running out of options,' the Doctor pointed out.

Fortalexa shrugged. 'You want a suggestion? Aim for the aft thruster feed section, not the main body of the s.h.i.+p.'

'Oh great, now you want a trick*shot. And you tell us we're mad.'

Fortalexa grinned suddenly. 'Maybe. But at least can tell a hawk from a handsaw.'

The section of the Mansionhouse they had entered from the Orangery was deserted. 'I keep these rooms and areas for myself,' Braxiatel confided quietly as they walked down a corridor lined on both walls with mirrors.

A never*ending reflection of Bernices turned to Braxiatel. 'Where are we going?' they asked in a single hushed voice.

'My drawing room. I need to check on the readiness of your s.h.i.+p. And there's one exhibit I'd like you to see.'

'You're not maybe considering telling me about the history of Menaxus?'

'Let me show you the exhibit first it is relevant, I promise you. Then I'll tell you about Menaxus.'

'Fair enough.'

What Braxiatel called his drawing room would, Benny thought, have made kings weep with envy. It was huge, with walls made of inlaid marble. In the centre stood a mahogany writing desk, a simple office chair behind it. Alcoves along each wall were filled either with statues of Lavithian Graffs in full ceremonial armour, or with forced perspective paintings of parts of the grounds of the house. These seemed to be subst.i.tutes for any windows, which suggested that the room was hidden within the depths of the building. For whatever reason, Braxiatel had ensured that he could not be overlooked from outside. Benny guessed that the room was also s.h.i.+elded.

Braxiatel walked across the room to the one alcove that contained neither a statue nor a mural. Benny followed, her feet ringing on the stone floor and her eyes fixed on the replica Supremacy of Venus Supremacy of Venus which covered the high ceiling, the G.o.ddess sitting among the clouds surrounded by cherubs and maidens. She negotiated the writing desk, glancing idly at the blotter and silver fountain pen lying on it. The blotter was headed which covered the high ceiling, the G.o.ddess sitting among the clouds surrounded by cherubs and maidens. She negotiated the writing desk, glancing idly at the blotter and silver fountain pen lying on it. The blotter was headed Custodian of the Library of St John the Beheaded Custodian of the Library of St John the Beheaded, but before Benny could ask what that meant, Braxiatel called her over.

He had already opened the gla.s.s*topped specimen cabinet. Inside was an opened book. It was bound in leather with the pages edged in silver. A silk bookmark was laid down the margin of the left*hand page, its counterpart was the illuminated cover page.

Braxiatel stood back a little to let Benny see. She read the few lines on the cover page. '"The Good Soldiers" a theatrical play by Stanoff Osterling.'

'The original handwritten ma.n.u.script,' Braxiatel confirmed. 'It's all there.'

'Have you read it?'

'Oh yes.' He smiled. 'It's actually not terribly good. Grigsen was wrong about that.'

Benny reached out for the book. But she stopped herself before her fingers touched the page. 'May I?'

He waved a hand for her to continue. 'It's been treated; you won't damage it so long as you're careful.'

Benny turned a few pages, reading odd lines and actions as she went, holding her breathe in awe. 'Why don't you publish it?'

'Because it's not very good.' He could see that his answer surprised her. 'I'm serious,' he went on. 'There is such a mythos about this play. If I publish it now that whole bubble of mystery and awe would burst.' He clicked his fingers sharply to ill.u.s.trate the point. 'Imagine your greatest and best childhood memory then go back and relive the moment. I guarantee it won't be the same. It can never live up to your expectations, so you would never go back to it. It is the potential that's important, like the statue for the last fountain. I can't deprive the universe of such a magnificent work of art, even if it never really existed.'

Benny thought of her diary. Even her recent past was covered by yellow sticky reinterpretations. Maybe he had a point. 'But it's a play. Maybe in performance it really is stunning.'

'Maybe.'

'Have you seen a performance of it?'

'In a sense.'

'And?'

'And you'll probably get a chance to judge for yourself.' He turned away and walked over to the writing desk, leaning back against it and waving Benny to the chair. 'Now then, the question of Menaxus. I just about have time before your s.h.i.+p is ready, and you will need to understand before you go. Not least so you can talk to the Doctor about it for me.'

Benny sat down, smoothing the velvet on her lap. She was eager to hear what Braxiatel had to say, to discover how close her improbable theories had been to the truth. But she was also intrigued by Osterling's lost ma.n.u.script. 'Has it occurred to you that the Doctor might already know all about it?'

He seemed startled. 'No how could he?'