Doctor Who_ Eternity Weeps Part 10

'- the only person on this mountain who's in trouble?' I finished calmly.

He said nothing. Just scuffed his shoes in embarra.s.sment. 'Good. Now shut up and sit down. If the soldiers find us before the Doctor does we're b.u.g.g.e.red. Big time.'

He shut up but I knew he was right. I had asked for help. I had called down the whirlwind.

I dragged in a few gulps of air. My side still felt like someone had poured acid all over it but at least I no longer had the feeling my insides were falling out. And even that discomfort was fading.

It was the rings. Why had I never thought about them before? Why had I never considered what properties they may be invested with? Was my ring exerting a pressure over me simply by virtue of my wearing it? Why had I never taken it off? There was a circle of dirty skin under that ring where I had never washed. Now I became aware that it itched horribly from time to time, but that this had never seemed to bother me until now.

Why had I never thought about the rings before? Was it truly because we had no need of them? No need of help? Or was it because even dormant they seemed so much like eyes you simply didn't want opened? The eyes of the Universe made manifest, watching you, judging you.

That was the closest I have come for many years to agreeing with Jason.

He felt it too. He knew the feeling was right.

What had I done?

But I knew the answer to that: I had called down the whirlwind and now it was coming, and we were standing right in its path, and so was the Earth.

I walked slowly back to the group humming 'Don't fear the Reaper'

nervously under my breath. My thoughts were a tumbled mess that needed sorting out. I felt the past collide with the future and gang up on the present.

It was a feeling I hadn't had since I last saw him, and it made me feel both scared and elated.

Jason lagged behind, staring up at the clouds, humming that stupid little Pepsi Cola jingle, which he does whenever he is thinking hard about something. Or trying to.

I don't think he wanted to walk with me. I'm almost certain he didn't. I didn't feel angry with him any more but I certainly wasn't going to mollycoddle him. We had things to do before he arrived.

I arrived back at the camp to mixed reactions.

When Sam Denton glanced curiously at my no doubt sprightly step I avoided her obvious question by sending her to fetch Jason. She gave me a peculiar glance. Hah. Don't push your luck girlie. You should thank me.

Schofield was sitting hunched on the ground, resting, ignoring everyone.

That was absolutely fine by me.

Tanner was more perceptive. She noticed something had happened to-me straight away. I suppose it couldn't have been more obvious. Even I felt it.

The aftermath of the ring's effect was running in me like a fever in reverse.

My back was straighter, my tiredness gone. My skin felt stretched taut over a body stiff with energy. I was one good feeling piled on top of another and it was as easy to see the change as it was to feel it.

I started talking fast. I didn't know how long the effect would last, or what the cost would be later.

'Right. There are things we have to do. We have to work out what these soldiers want. We have to find out what they've done with Bill Raelsen and the others. We have to rescue them if they're still alive. And we have to make d.a.m.n sure all our data comes with them. We can't let these soldiers have anything.'

Tanner thought about that and then asked the most perceptive question I had heard anyone ask so far: 'Why are there soldiers on both mountains?'

'That's not a question I've overlooked.' 'So what about it then?'

'Just because I've thought about it doesn't mean I have an answer.' A thought struck me then. I realized something had been bugging me about Jason's story. I walked over to where he and Denton were talking. Both of them looked as guilty as h.e.l.l when I approached. Denton took a little half-step backwards. Oh dear. How predictable. Jason looked at me, defiance stamped all over his face. Far too much defiance.

I said, 'Jim's lump of moonrock. Let me have it, will you?'

He seemed almost relieved as he handed it over.

I rummaged around in my bag and pulled out the spectroscope.

Jason pointed. 'That's his.'

I smiled humourlessly. 'It's like being married. "What's his is mine, what's mine's me own."' I stared at Denton as I said this. She got the point but the one half-step she'd already taken was all she was going to back down. Fair enough.

I studied the moonrock. It was grey, streaked with black, grainy in texture; just a lump of rock that I held in my hand, yet it was part of another planet.

Moments like this were what it was all about.

I scanned it. Oops.

Take it all back Bernice.

Jason must have seen my expression change - either that or the spillover from the rings still linked us somewhat. 'What?'

'Remember how I said those drogue stones were six billion years old and came from somewhere outside the Solar System?'

'Yeah.'

'Well so did this.' I held up the moonrock, dropped it back into Jason's hand. 'They're the same stuff.'

Tanner came up to us. 'Did you hear it?' 'Hear what?'

'Sshhh!'

For a moment all was quiet. Then something lifted above the drone of the wind. An engine. An aeroplane.

'Is it him?'

I looked up. 'Not unless he's brought the whole Turkish Army with him.'

The sky was full of dark splotches, black on umber clouds, drifting through the sky, moving against the wind. Parachutes. About thirty of them.

I swore.

'We've got company.'

That was true in more ways than one.

All of us heard the next sound to break the silence. Footsteps.

I turned. There was no time for panic to grip me. No time to hide. The image of a gun rammed against my face swam before my eyes.

We waited for the slow, deliberate footsteps to bring whoever it was into view.

Someone came round a jut of rock. I heard breath rasp in someone's chest.

I felt my fists clench, remembered how it had felt to ram my paintbrush into a human eye.

The footsteps stopped.

A voice whispered, 'Pretty view, Benny.' I almost yelped with relief.

It was Dilaver.

He fell to the ground as I ran towards him.

I sc.r.a.ped some moisture from a hollow in a nearby rock and wiped the boy's face. Wisely, he refused to drink.

He was exhausted, bleeding from sc.r.a.pes to his face and hands. The Paul Weller portrait on his jacket - twin to the one on his crash helmet - had almost rubbed away. He jerked when I touched him; peeling back his jacket I saw bruises spreading across his chest and upper arms. I couldn't tell, but thought one of his ribs might be broken.

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d.' Someone had worked him over. Who did this to you?'

'Soldiers. Iraqis.'

The questions came thick and fast then. Even Schofield joined in nervously.

What were they doing? Are you sure they were Iraqis and not Iranians?

How did you escape? How long have you been walking? Are they following you?

I flapped a hand to shut them up. 'He needs to rest.' Schofield said sharply, 'If we let him rest and he's being followed we could all be killed.'

I scowled. Much as I wanted to kick the historian for his insensitivity, I had to agree with him. In my book it was brains, not brawn, which won the war.

We needed intelligence; Dilaver could provide it. , But there was something we needed more than that. 'We need to find cover. A cave. Somewhere to hide. In about two minutes this mountainside is going to be crawling with soldiers burying their parachutes. We'll look like right charlies if one of them lands on top of us and sounds the alarm.'

Even Schofield didn't argue with that. We started to look for somewhere to hide.

We found it nearby in the shape of a tiny box canyon, more of an open-roofed cave really, whose entrance had been partially concealed by a slide of rocks in the not too distant past.

We carried Dilaver there, made him as comfortable as we could on a blanket of coats and listened as, in a painful whisper, he told us what had happened back at the camp.

His story did not differ substantially from Jason's. When Dot and Reefer and I had been shot, Dilaver had hidden himself in the rocks nearby.

Realizing his best hope for escape was to move while the soldier was still examining the bodies, he had crept silently away. Thus he had failed to see me kill the soldier.

He crept back to the main camp site to get help - only to discover the camp was under armed guard. He didn't know if anyone had been killed - he didn't think so - but then he couldn't see anyone alive either. Well, anyone that wasn't a soldier. The soldiers had taken over the camp, gathered together all the computers, pads, anything that a note or a memo could be scrawled on. And others were quartering the surrounding ground thoroughly with hand-held devices I recognized from his description to be Geiger counters.

He had lain low until dark, then circled the camp to where several tents had been erected, planning to find out if anyone was left alive. But he was spotted by a sentry. He had turned and run, followed by soldiers with guns.

They hadn't shot him; he was only a kid. They thought he would be easy to recapture. But when he had caught one soldier in the eye with a thrown rock the others had decided he needed to be taught a lesson.

The men were brutal; their commanding officer was worse. From his description, he was a colonel. His name was Samran.

The lesson quickly got out of hand.

The soldiers beat Dilaver senseless and, at Samran's orders, left him to die.

But the kid was tougher than they thought. He lay unconscious for several hours. When he awoke he knew he had to get off the mountain. He had followed a search party sent out to look for the soldier I had killed - and that's when he had realized I was still alive. So he had come to find me.

Bless his heart; he knew neither of us would survive alone. Well, he knew I wouldn't. Even injured as he was, he could have got off the mountain and escaped - but he came after me instead.

Dilaver finished his story and there was silence. I didn't know what to say. I thought about giving him a big hug and then remembered all those bruises covering his chest.

'Dilaver, my lad, you're an absolute star and I owe you one. Big time,' I whispered.

He managed a grin. 'Beg pardon?'

I couldn't help laughing quietly. Dilaver joined in, though I could see how much it hurt. I was about to try to find out exactly how much information he had about the soldiers' equipment and movements, when I was interrupted by the sound of footsteps crunching outside the box canyon.

We fell silent and listened.

The footsteps crunched softly over the ground. Rocks slipped and clacked.

There was a rustling noise, as of folding cloth. Then a sc.r.a.ping sound, as if someone were brushing dirt and small stones together. You didn't need to be a genius to figure out what was going on. One of the soldiers was burying his parachute.

Then the noises stopped. Suddenly. As if - I suddenly went cold. I grabbed Jason and pulled him close. 'Where's my paintbrush?' I hissed.

His silence was answer enough.

He'd left it outside. He might as well have painted a b.l.o.o.d.y sign: ENEMY AGENTS THIS WAY. PLEASE COME AND SHOOT US.

The silence continued.

I had to find out what was happening. What the soldier was doing. Holding my bag as forlorn protection should the worst come to the worst, I crept to the entrance to the canyon and peered out. I found out what the soldier was doing almost immediately: he was following our footprints.

I tried to duck back but it was too late. He looked up and our eyes met. He was about three yards away. He covered his surprise by trying to kill me.

The knife he threw thudded into my bag with enough force to knock me over.

I gripped the knife hilt as I fell over and played dead.

I sucked in a couple of breaths, wriggled a bit, under cover of which I wrenched the knife free of the bag, then I slumped flat against the ground and tried to look as much like a corpse as I could.

I waited. Nothing. Come on. Come and check me out.

I gripped the knife hilt, held it against my body. I tensed myself to shove it upwards at the slightest touch.

Come on. I'm just a dead body. And a woman at that. Nothing happened.