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much – a hopeless, worthless drug addict who had completely
given up – but he pulled me back.’ McGuire shrugged. ‘God
knows how. I can’t even remember that period of my life.
Thanks to him, I managed to claw back my dignity. He
suggested that I start a new life, away from Earth and all the
memories, so he found me a position in Jacksonville in one of
his companies.’ He sighed. ‘I know it sounds absurd – moving
to Mars when I thought you were responsible for what had
happened to me – but it was a chance of a new life. Besides,
Jacksonville was a self-contained human colony; I could have
been anywhere in the solar system.’
Sstaal frowned – he had removed his helmet and armour
some time ago – and raised an ungloved finger. ‘But that
doesn’t explain why you would lead an expedition to the
North Pole. Surely you realized that you would have to deal
with my people if you wanted to share any supplies that you
might have found?’
McGuire nodded. ‘Of course I did. That’s why I
approached the Mayor and suggested the expedition after
Vince had detected the energy readings. After three years here,
three years of pent-up anger and hate, I wanted to face up to
the people that I blamed for the mess that was my life. I had
to. I needed to know what would happen to me. I needed to
know whether I could forgive.’
‘And now that you have faced up to us, Antony – how do
you feel? Has the pain subsided, or will you allow it to
consume you for the rest of your life as well? Or perhaps you
have become comfortable with it?’
The answer was simple, a tenet over two hundred years old.
‘I can forgive, Sstaal. But I can never forget. If you’re right,
though, I haven’t anything to forgive you for.’ He reached out
and grabbed Sstaal’s hand. ‘But can you forgive me for my
hatred?’
Sstaal squeezed McGuire’s hand. ‘I can only do that once
you have forgiven yourself. And that, Antony, is going to be
the hardest thing of all.’
The door opened, and a Martian entered. He gestured to
them. ‘You have five minutes to ready yourselves,’ he hissed.
‘You have an audience with the Grand Marshal.’
McGuire looked over at Sstaal. ‘Grand Marshal? What the
hell’s going on?’
Sstaal appeared as disturbed as McGuire felt. ‘I don’t
know, Antony. But I am not reassured. If we needed further
proof that this is not the religious nest that the Abbot expected,
that is it. Grand Marshals are only to he found in military
nests.’
As Sstaal hurriedly dressed himself in his armour, McGuire
glanced at the Ice Warrior in the doorway, and realized that he
didn’t hate him. He was one Martian amongst many, and
McGuire didn’t have the right to condemn an entire race for
the crimes of a select few – whatever he thought.
He knew that he was learning. He just hadn’t expected that
the education would come from a Greenie.
In a way, he was glad it had. It was the sort of poetic justice
that convinced him that there was a God after all.
‘You idiot, Chris!’ shouted Roz, punching him gently in the
stomach. He grinned, almost unable to believe who he was
seeing. Without thinking, he grabbed her in a bear hug and
spun her around.
‘Roz – you don’t know -’
‘I do,’ she replied curtly. ‘And before you ask, the Doctor’s
here as well, although he’s safely under lock and key.’
‘What are the Ice Warriors running here – some kind of
penitentiary for refugees?’ And then he remembered his
primary mission. ‘I’m after two people who arrived here with
me.’
‘From where?’ asked the woman with long dark hair who
was standing behind Roz.
Chris frowned at the unfamiliar voice. ‘Who’s this?’
‘Christopher Cwej; meet Adjudicator Carmen Santacosta.’
‘Adjudicator?’ How had Roz managed to team up with
another Adjudicator? Then again, what the hell had she been
up to since the destruction of the TARDIS?
Roz grinned. ‘A long story. Did the TARDIS dump you on
Mars as well, then?’
He shook his head, but he was unwilling to go into too
much detail. They were too visible, too vulnerable. ‘No, on
Charon.’ And then, relishing the odd looks he received:
‘Another long story. We’re about three hundred metres from
the subspace manipulator chamber where I think the other two
are being held. I suggest we grab them, and then attempt to
free the Doctor.’
‘And the others,’ added Roz. ‘An expedition from
Jacksonville and a party of Ice Warrior pilgrims.’
Chris snorted. ‘It’s never simple, is it? Okay, okay,
explanations can wait. Time for the Guild to come to the
rescue.’
‘The Bureau,’ corrected Santacosta.
‘The Guild,’ corrected Roz emphatically.
Chris didn’t care. His life was coming together again. And
he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so exhilarated.
The Doctor, Aklaar and the others were standing before
Draan’s desk once more. But Draan himself was absent. Four
Warriors stood at each corner of the large room, disruptors
trained on the travellers.
‘Any idea what this is about, Abbot?’ whispered McGuire.
‘None, Antony. I am sorry to confess that nothing has been
as expected since we arrived at the Cauldron of Sutekh.’ Not
as expected, he thought. But as suspected was a different
matter.
A grinding noise alerted them to a door opening at the back
of the room. Aklaar knew that the others were probably
expecting Draan to make his entrance, but Aklaar suspected
otherwise. Just as he suspected that the entire pilgrimage was
nothing more than an elaborate trap sprung by a very old
enemy. A trap which he had blindly fallen into.
And, as the figure entered the room, Aklaar saw that he
wasn’t mistaken. With a twisting, nauseating feeling of
hateful, vile memories being stirred from their enforced sleep,
he recognized the gold and purple armour of a Supreme Grand
Marshal, the ceremonial uniform only worn by the privileged:
the eight rulers of the planet Mars.
Falaxyr, one of only two survivors of that same Eight-Point
Table that had led Mars into bloody, futile war against
mankind, the Eight-Point Table that had accepted ritual
suicide as atonement for the consequences of that war – all
except two. One was Falaxyr the coward; the same Falaxyr
who cast his gaze across the group. When his attention
reached Aklaar he paused. And smiled.
‘As you probably realize, I am in absolute command of this
base. Any deviation, any questioning of my orders, will be met
with immediate execution. None of you is indispensable. Am I
understood?’
‘Perfectly,’ muttered the Doctor. ‘Typical black-or-white
thinking.’
Falaxyr gave a thin smile. ‘But that is the way of the
Martian military. Isn’t it, Abbot Aklaar?’ The words were
sharp and pointed, designed to cut away at him.
No, Falaxyr. Not this time. Aklaar made a decisive step
forward. For nearly seventy years, he had been the wise old
Abbot of an ancient and respected seminary, the spiritual
leader of his followers in Oras. Now all that was lost, gone for
ever, because Aklaar hadn’t recognized that he was leading his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]