Doctor Who_ Cat's Cradle_ Times Crucible - Marc Platt [2]
Vael blocked his mind from the rumours, but there was no escape: the media were equally full of Prydonius's triumphant homecoming. Live coverage on all channels as the Hero's ship, the Apollaten docked in the flight harbour, its space-corralled prow nudging into the icy anchor gantries. On the quays, the cheering crowds were already working themselves into a frenzy.
Vael heard a knock on the door. He knew it would be Loie, the cadet in the next room. The only one who bothered to talk to him, even though he despised her. Loie would have seen the results as well, but Vael could exist without her sympathy. He resisted making a fierce retaliation to the enquiring thoughts that came through the door. Instead, he shut himself off from her persistent knocking and thought no giveaway thoughts at all.
On the screen there were in-depth interviews with Prydonius and his crew, relating their quest into the blood-red mists of distant Thule, where they had overthrown the reign of a marauding Sphinx. There were visual reports from the documentary team that had accompanied the voyage, but despite the euphoria, all the interviewers pressed home two questions: was this the last of the epic space journeys? And did the new experiments into time travel number the days of the Space Voyager?
Haclav Agusti Prydonius, the Hero and seasoned interviewee, shook his mane of black hair and laughed out loud. "I'm no lackey of Rassilon and his neo-technologists. There'll be no substitute for the Old Order." To affirm this he produced his greatest trophy, retrieved from the ruin of Thule - the severed head of the Sphinx itself. Preserved temprogenically, it would be donated to the Academia Library for study. Perhaps, Prydonius added mockingly, it would be persuaded to divulge the answers to some of its riddles.
Vael switched off the screen in disgust and wrapped himself in a fury he was unaware he harboured.
He knew he was special - even appointed for some future he could not yet see. He would not be next to nothing; not sink back into the faceless chorus of the people. He railed at the injustice of the Gods, the capricious and all-powerful Menti Celesti, who saw all things but did nothing! Shaking, he reeled round and fell back in tenor at the implacable figure that stood over him.
The Pythia, her masklike face streaked with gold and her long grey ringlets coiled with silver wire. She was a cold statue, but Vael caught the woodsmoke smell and saw the talismans that hung from her robes, glinting with the trapped starlight of long-lost constellations.
The only thought Vael heard, and was unable to block out, was "How wasteful!" The silent look that it accompanied was of downright contempt for his failure. In a rage that forgot the deference due to a priestess so venerable, Vael thrust back a defiant curse on all the ritual and lore of Gallifrey. "Your days are numbered. Superstition will be swept away in the new Age of Reason."
The Pythia's gilded eyes narrowed for a moment and her bony hand clutched at the sceptre head of the wand on which she leaned. In that instant, Vael felt her search into his mind as clearly as the star glass through which she saw other ancient Pythias in other worlds and times. He thought to feign dutiful shame, but what was the point? By now the priestess understood that he was special too.
For long moments outside the natural ebb of thought, he was held speechless by her scrutiny. Then her eyes, unnaturally black like the void, released him. He was dismissed. A torrent of thoughts flooded his unshielded mind: the carnival of Prydonius's victory parade through the snowy city. The cacophony of Gallifreyan minds was for once unified into a single harmonized and joyous chorus of triumph.
"Like the radiant sun in the sky, supreme in glory, so Prydonius, our greatest hero, returns in glory to Gallifrey"
Vael fell back unconscious.
He clung to the sides of his sleeping-pallet as the stars whirlpooled