Doctor Who_ Theatre Of War Part 3

Cambri was short, dark, female, and looked like if she met Tashman and Krayn on a dark night she'd get the better of them both. She obviously was hankering for the battlefield, and Benny made a mental note to include the word 'psychotic' when she got round to mentioning Cambri in her diary.

Of the archaeologists, Lannic was by far the youngest. She was also the most self*a.s.sured. Benny had already met poor old diffident Panactum Gilmanuk, of course. The last one in the party was Leontium Klasvik. He was the expert in excavation and archaeological techniques an archaeologist's archaeologist. He was about the same age as Gilmanuk, but tall and stooped. He came across as an officious dodderer whose nose was severely out of joint because he wasn't in charge.

'I am glad to be able to offer my humble services and expertise,' Klasvik offered he sounded far from humble. 'I feel honoured to be the most experienced field archaeologist here.' He smiled round the room, his face cracked with the effort. 'I'm also very pleased that my old colleague Gilmanuk will be joining us I know how difficult it has been for him to find time for any real archaeology since he has had his personal problems. I am sure we are all glad to see that they are now resolved.'

From the looks of the others a.s.sembled, it seemed that none of them had even been aware of any problems. But they were now. Benny kept her thoughts to herself, and waited to see how Gilmanuk would deal with the jibe.

Surprisingly, he acknowledged it immediately, and as a result regained at least as much respect as Klasvik had tried to strip away. As soon as he had introduced himself, Gilmanuk turned to Klasvik, and thanked him for the comment. 'I am er grateful, Leontium, for those few kind words. Things have not been easy, as you know, since er,' he broke off with a cough. 'Since my son's death and my subsequent problems. It is good of you to bring this to the attention of our friends and colleagues. I am sure we have all lost loved ones in this war, but that makes it no easier to bear the burden, of course.' He sat down and began to polish his spectacles. Benny reached across and squeezed Gilmanuk's shoulder. He smiled back at her weakly.

The introductions over, Lannic took the floor again and began to describe the previous expedition and what they could expect to find on Menaxus. As Lannic started to go through her slides, Benny wondered if she would have volunteered to join them if she had initially met any of the members of the team other than Gilmanuk.

'Ditch the recorders.' Lannic was firm. The lander would only take so much weight. The grandly but inappropriately named Pride of Padrillion Pride of Padrillion was a lander cobbled together from a clapped*out satellite*hopper with auxiliary fuel tanks strapped and welded to its underside in the optimistic expectation that it would not have to land anywhere where the ground was uneven. It sat uneasily and incongruously in the landing bay of the slightly less dilapidated orbit*ship was a lander cobbled together from a clapped*out satellite*hopper with auxiliary fuel tanks strapped and welded to its underside in the optimistic expectation that it would not have to land anywhere where the ground was uneven. It sat uneasily and incongruously in the landing bay of the slightly less dilapidated orbit*ship Icoronata Icoronata named after the b.l.o.o.d.y battle for that planet, which the Heletians had of course won. named after the b.l.o.o.d.y battle for that planet, which the Heletians had of course won.

Tashman and Cambri began loading the crates onto the carrier, and Klasvik glared at Lannic. They were his recorders. He had a pa.s.sion for recording the minutiae of excavations, and insufficient a.s.sertiveness to object in front of the crew.

Tashman knew that too, but he drove the carrier back out of the hold, past the piles of provisions and the antiquated equipment spared grudgingly from Heletia's dwindling reserves, and into the orbit*ship without a word. A glance at Lannic had told him who would win the contest. Drive them in, drive them out again that suited Tashman fine. Just so long as it kept him paid. And out of the front line.

He exchanged glances with Cambri as she drove the other carrier past him, tense and upright as she negotiated the gap between Tashman's carrier and a pile of crates. A light raise of one dark eyebrow signified she agreed with his reading. Tashman knew she would rather be at the battlefront knew that she saw her attachment to the expedition as a diversion from the serious business of killing and (probably) being killed. It was a business Tashman was happy to leave to people like Cambri.

The war would catch up with them soon enough, the front line was already back to the moons of Dosardus. Optron would be next, and then Gluvene, reversing the order of their acquisition, Last in, first out.

Leontium Klasvik was still seething when he reached the flight deck. If anything, he was more angry than he had been in the hold. It was easier to be angry at Lannic when she wasn't there. She was brilliant he had just begun to think of her as a potential protegee, although this said more about Klasvik's age than Lannic's youth. And now he seemed to be ditching the fundamentals of archaeology even before they had started on the excavations.

Not that Klasvik had worked with Lannic before. But he did know people who had... and she certainly had a reputation. In the last five years her contributions to theatre history had been astounding. When he had discovered he was to work with her, he had scanned all her work. She had written a remarkable amount since her graduation, most of it covering new ground though she was never too proud to acknowledge any previous work in her fields of study. Klasvik was very much of the opinion that credit should be given where due he had failed otherwise brilliant students for not acknowledging sources.

He had first heard of her about five years ago, but her papers went back five years before that. Some of them were quite brilliant, it was odd he didn't remember a stir when they were published. But then Klasvik was an archaeologist, not a theatrologist. His own papers had caused stirs enough. He sighed as he reached the end of the corridor to the flight deck. New Brasiscan Discoveries from the Time of Corneille III New Brasiscan Discoveries from the Time of Corneille III now there was a paper, First published in now there was a paper, First published in The Archaeologist The Archaeologist in 3941. Or was it 3942, in in 3941. Or was it 3942, in Brasiscan Diaries Brasiscan Diaries?

'Everything on cue?' Krayn was strapping himself into the control seat.

Klasvik grunted and sprawled in one of the crew seats.

'That good, eh?' Krayn turned back to the deck, scooping a quant.i.ty of plasma*gel on to his index finger and applying it to the plastic suction pad on the pilot end of the com*connect. He glanced at the reflection of the lead archaeologist in the sightscreen above him. Klasvik was lying back in the seat, his eyes closed and his lips moving silently. Krayn smiled he certainly wasn't praying, but he probably was cursing. Cursing Lannic.

Krayn attached the pad to his temple and keyed in to the com*net. His eyes glazed over and he sat back in his chair. The antiquated computer net fed antiquated data into the pilot's brain, which wondered why it was bothering to give him such basic information. The reason was simple enough it was all the computer knew. Krayn ignored it, and followed his own thoughts instead.

As she boarded the lander, Bernice was beginning to have second thoughts about the whole thing. It seemed to be degenerating into a glorified treasure hunt rather than serious scientific research. And they hadn't even arrived at the site yet.

The scientists all seemed to know their stuff well, all except for herself. But Bernice had taken the opportunity of the long flight back from Braxiatel to read up on Heletian history and get a basic grounding in theatrology and recent research. She had been grateful that the Braxiatel s.p.a.ce dock had such an academically oriented disc library, although it was scarcely surprising.

As the members of the team drifted in and took their places in the lander, strapping themselves down in the flight seats, Benny went through their names to check she remembered them from the initial briefing.

Lefkhani was the final member of the team. He had not attended that initial briefing, and was afforded the dubious pleasure of remaining on board the Icoronata Icoronata in orbit while the others were on the surface. He was a quiet, nondescript man who seemed happy to do his job and unhappy to be asked to do anything else. His look of anguish if anyone suggested he help to some task other than piloting the ship was so extreme that n.o.body ever did ask him. Benny was not sure whether this was just luck on his part or indicative of an inner judgmental ability which there was no other external sign. in orbit while the others were on the surface. He was a quiet, nondescript man who seemed happy to do his job and unhappy to be asked to do anything else. His look of anguish if anyone suggested he help to some task other than piloting the ship was so extreme that n.o.body ever did ask him. Benny was not sure whether this was just luck on his part or indicative of an inner judgmental ability which there was no other external sign.

As she watched him on the main screen, counting off the last seconds before the drop, Benny began to wonder if perhaps Lefkhani had not got the best deal after all.

The lander dropped towards the surface of Menaxus like a well engineered stone. The auxiliary fuel tanks glowed a deep red despite their makeshift heat shield as the craft entered the atmosphere. Then the wing motors cut in and the ship started its powered glide.

'Glide' is a graceful word. It suggests a smooth, easy path through the air to a gentle landing. If any of the crew of the lander had been asked to describe their descent, only Krayn would perhaps have used the word 'glide.' But he had been taught the theory before experiencing the practice.

As the ship began its glide, it also began to suffer a buffeting from the Menaxan atmosphere. Lannic, sitting in the co*pilot's chair, staring at the sight*screen view forward, experienced no sense of deja*vu deja*vu. Seeing the surface loom closer through what she had taken for static and white noise but now could see was sheeting rain, she felt she was landing on a completely different planet.

'I'll need somewhere solid to put down,' Krayn shouted above the stress and motor noises.

'Solid?' Lannic wasn't sure what he meant. 'What's the problem?'

Krayn punched up a closer image of the ground below. The computer had already seen it, and so therefore had Krayn. But Lannic was surprised.

The whole surface appeared to be a sea of mud with water standing on it and the rain splashing in. "There's no way to tell how firm it is, or how deep. No way without landing in it and that might be too late.'

Lannic reached across and keyed up a map of her previous excavations over the actual landscape. Everything they had uncovered was now buried in the mud. 'There the roof of the Admissions Complex. It should be flat and higher than the surrounding land.'

'Will it be strong enough to take our weight?' Fortalex was leaning over from his communications console.

'One way to find out.'

'Will the theatre itself have a stronger roof?' Krayn pointed at the semicircular area shaded on to the overlay map.

'It's an amphitheatre,' said Lannic, slumping back in her chair and letting the straps tighten across her chest. 'It doesn't have a roof.' The plastic sheeting they had stretched over it to keep out the dust even a.s.suming it was still intact would never make a landing pad.

Krayn raised an eyebrow. Fortalexa shook his head and turned back to his console. 'Must have been difficult to bring the house down,' he said. n.o.body laughed. He smiled humourlessly as another jolt pushed him forward in his seat by way of a reprimand.

Whether by skill or by luck, the Pride of Padrillion Pride of Padrillion settled easily, her pads sinking a few centimetres into the soft mud and skidding slightly before gaining purchase on the roof of the complex. Her rad*counter began a.s.similating and a.n.a.lysing data derived from the heavy*metal content of the atmosphere, and her crew breathed heartfelt (and only slightly radioactive) sighs of relief as they unbuckled their safety harnesses. They were all grateful they were down and safe. settled easily, her pads sinking a few centimetres into the soft mud and skidding slightly before gaining purchase on the roof of the complex. Her rad*counter began a.s.similating and a.n.a.lysing data derived from the heavy*metal content of the atmosphere, and her crew breathed heartfelt (and only slightly radioactive) sighs of relief as they unbuckled their safety harnesses. They were all grateful they were down and safe.

A s.p.a.ce had been cleared in the centre of the hold. The majority of the supplies and equipment were still waiting to be unloaded, but some had been dumped unceremoniously outside the lander, and more pushed back towards the sides of the craft. A long low crate containing flasks of purified water acted as a table, with most of the crew sitting round on smaller packages. Of the others, Krayn was checking the contents of the crates, marking them off on his clip*pak as he went. Tashman wandered after him like a lost dog. Cambri was checking off supplies in another area of the hold. Apart from them, only Fortalexa was absent, monitoring the newscasts over the com*net in the control cabin. The others were paying attention to Klasvik as he went over the maps and charts.

'Using standard techniques, and keeping records by hand as far as we can,' his voice echoed round the metal walls, catching in the plastic crates on the rebound, 'I estimate a ninety*seven per cent chance of complete excavation of the major area in thirty*four days.' He peered at the faces surrounding him, attentive to him. Even Lannic seemed happy to accept his plan and was nodding lowly.

Gilmanuk leaned forward a little and coughed politely. Odd for someone so knowledgeable about the extrovert world of the theatre to be so diffident. But Gilmanuk's expertise was not in performance, but in the structure of the buildings where the performances took place.

Klasvik glanced round. All faces were now turned expectantly towards Gilmanuk. Perhaps there was an element of performance after all. Klasvik frowned, but said nothing. If Gilmanuk felt he had to speak, then it was important.

'I don't wish to cause problems, you understand, but well...' Gilmanuk paused for a moment, pulling off his spectacles and polishing them vigorously on a handcloth. He smiled faintly and his small round face seemed to wrinkle with the effort. 'Thirty*four days. Don't you think that is a little, umm well...' He broke off, as if at a loss. n.o.body spoke. n.o.body ever interrupted Gilmanuk if they did, he looked so embarra.s.sed that it shamed them.

Gilmanuk started again; abrupt, hurried, keen to finish his soliloquy: 'Well, isn't it just a bit don't you think?'

Lannic was the first to gather her thoughts. 'It is an ambitious schedule, Gilmanuk. We do have to complete and leave before the war reaches us, after all. But you are the expert on the structure we intend to uncover. Do you think we should allow longer?'

'No no no. I'm sure Klasvik has his sums right, and I do appreciate the urgency of this... matter.'

'Thank you,' murmured Klasvik, and avoided catching Bernice's eye when he realized she had heard him.

'But you will be careful, won't you?' Gilmanuk shuffled on the crate he was perching on. 'With my theatre, I mean.'

Klasvik looked up abruptly, and found Gilmanuk already watching him.

'I'm sorry, Klasvik. I know you are in charge of the archaeology and you consider this to be your site just as Lannic considers it to be her expedition. It's all a question of degree, really.'

'Go on,' encouraged Bannahilk. He smiled, having no proprietorial feelings about anything but his uniform and the military equipment.

'Well, I'm sorry to get possessive, and I understand you feel the same about your own areas of interest, but the theatre the structure, the building itself is mine. At least, to me it is.' He broke off and picked at a fingernail. 'I just want you to be careful with it.'

For a moment n.o.body stirred. Then Bernice pulled herself upright and walked round the crates to where Gilmanuk still played with his nail. She put her hand on his shoulder and he looked up. 'I know what you mean,' she said. 'We all do. Of course this is Lannic's expedition and Klasvik's site and my artefacts, if we find any evidence of production or the things pertaining to it. And we are using Bannahilk's equipment. And it is your theatre.'

Gilmanuk put his hand up to his shoulder, covering Bernice's, and beamed. 'Thank you, my friends,' he nodded. Behind him Krayn grimaced at Tashman. And Tashman's answering smirk froze as Fortalexa hurried in, eyes dancing in search of Bannahilk.

The others watched as Fortalexa bent and whispered in his officer's ear for a moment. Bannahilk frowned and stood up, drawing Fortalexa away across the hold. Klasvik gestured to Bernice as he caught her eye, but she shook her head 'Don't know,' she mouthed across the crates, shrugging.

'Well, there's something going on.' Lannic was less worried about speaking aloud.

Bannahilk returned, Fortalexa following. There was a short silence as he stood stiffly in front of everyone. 'Gluvene has fallen,' he said, and the hold erupted with exclamations and questions. The archaeologists were all talking at once, Bannahilk and Fortalexa waiting quietly for them to finish. Eventually the noise died down enough for Bannahilk to have some hope of making himself heard. 'Fortalexa got it straight off the net I'm afraid there's no room for doubt.'

'What about Optron? we never heard the Rippeareans had even reached it, let alone moved on the Gluvene.' Gilmanuk was even more nervous than he had been earlier.

'That's right,' Fortalexa answered. 'Unfortunately, the Rippeareans never went near it. They came through the wings.'

'They what?' Lannic was as aghast as the others.

'They came round it. Optron is still held by the Seventh Armoured. But they're cut off, they have nowhere to fall back to now that Gluvene's fallen. They've been written out of the war surgically removed. All they can do is stay put.'

'Can't they break out retake Gluvene?'

'No, Klasvik, they cannot. They're a buffer force. They're equipped for defence, not attack. Their strength is in their fortifications, the battlement satellites and antis.p.a.ce missile systems. They can't rescript the satellites as ballistics and the ASMs would make lousy s.p.a.ce*attack weapons.'

For a moment n.o.body knew what to say. n.o.body except Tashman. 'S'blood!' he said from across the hold. Loudly. Everyone turned to look at him and he looked down at his feet. 'Sorry.'

'His brother's with the Seventh,' Krayn apologized.

'I shouldn't worry about him, then.'

Tashman swallowed, his eyes glazing.

'I'm serious,' Bannahilk went on quickly. 'When I said they'd been written out I meant it. They can't move from Optron, and the Rippeareans won't go in after them why should they bother attacking that fortress? All they have to do is keep going now till they reach Heletia. When the war is over, the Seventh will surrender, and Optron will cede back.'

Fortalexa smiled. 'If you want somebody to worry about, I should consider the sectors directly on the line of attack from the swing into Gluvene and on to Heletia The whole dynamic of the advance just changed completely.'

'From the manner in which you went out of your way to mention that, I guess this is probably a silly question, but Bernice paused, considering how best to phrase what she wanted to say. 'But are there any planets in particular which are directly in the attack line that you suggest we consider?'

Fortalexa looked at Bannahilk. His commander nodded for him to continue. 'Oh yes,' he said. 'This one.'

'And what do you suggest? We can't leave not without completing the expedition.' Lannic looked across at Klasvik as she spoke. He nodded he was not leaving now, not without some excavation at least.

'We can, and we will.'

'When? The danger can't be that imminent this has only just happened, right?'

'That's true, Klasvik,' said Bannahilk. 'You just outlined a plan to excavate the site in thirty*four days. The absolute maximum I can give you now is eight.'

'Eight?' Gilmanuk was appalled.

'Eight. And that a.s.sumes a steady advance by the Rippereans rather than a lightning strike directly at Heletia without worrying about pockets of resistance getting left behind.'

'In which case they wouldn't worry about us.' Cambri was picking at the plastic of a crate of dried foodstuffs at the far end of the hold. But her voice carried clearly.

Hannahilk rounded on her sternly. 'Want to bet your life on it?'

'a.s.sok Bannahilk.' Lannic's voice was just as sharp. The officer turned back to her. 'How long if the Rippeareans do make such a strike?'

'Four days at the outside.'

'And when would we know that's their intention.'

'Real soon now,' said Fortalexa. 'Today, anyway.'

'Is it likely?' Klasvik was already weighing up the alternatives, the risks of heavy*duty approaches to removing the top layers of ground.

'Likely? Who can say what their plans are now? But put yourself in their position. They have the choice of a steady advance to do things properly or a lightning strike and an almost certain quick victory. Given that choice in a war like this one, the choice between another few years and another few months of this carnage... Well, I know which one I'd go for.'

Bannahilk waited a moment for a response, and when none was forthcoming marched out of the hold, Fortalexa in close pursuit.

'Okay everyone,' Lannic was immediately poring over the maps and schedules rolled out on the crates in front of them. 'I want a workable plan to get in to the main theatre complex, a.s.suming a schedule of at most two days. That will leave us at least two days of real study, depending how generous the Rippeareans are and how many corners Bannahilk will cut for us. I want the plan and a risk a.s.sessment within an hour.'

Sitting on a crate swinging his legs and staring at an empty s.p.a.ce on the floor, Tashman decided his earlier comment had been relevant after all.

The distant sun was sinking very fast now. Its violet light diffused through the gaps between the mountain tops and reflected off the slopes of snow and ice. After another moment the light dimmed a little, the shadows dipped and lengthened, and the snowy mountains became black against the rim of the sun. Then it was gone.

Darkness.

'So what happens now?' asked Ace.

The Doctor turned slightly to look at her, his back resting against the pestigogo tree. He raised his hat slightly as if to see her properly, his dark eyes still shaded. 'We wait.'

They waited.