Doctor Who_ Combat Rock - Mick Lewis [31]
Screams. Pulse rifles began to spit and blaze. Although quite what they were firing at the headman wasn’t sure, as he dashed panic-stricken towards the safety of his hut. He threw a look over his shoulder and the Mumi was a squatting torch of flame. Tourists were scattering like a herd of Babi frightened by a berserk farmer. He could see a couple of tourists burning on the ground, their wriggles fading. They’d obviously been hit in the wild fire, and the headman thought that was probably a good thing: Sabit would certainly have a lot of explaining to do.
Another thought struck him, and this one wasn’t so good: there would be nobody paying to see Jikora’s Mumi now.
Then something else struck him, and he hit the dirt ablaze with Pulse energy, one arm stretched out towards his hut as if seeking the assistance of his pregnant wife, his mouth a screaming maw, his eye-sockets pooled by fire.
The soldiers retreated, letting Jikora burn.
The hand was gone from her mouth. It wasn’t the first time this particular indignity had been forced upon her, and Victoria was sure it wouldn’t be the last while she was in the company of the Doctor; but it was becoming increasingly tiresome. Although at least this time the man responsible seemed to pose no immediate threat. He was a soldier after all, and weren’t they supposed to be gallant and chivalrous towards ladies?
Then again, he was an Indoni soldier, and Victoria remembered the look of fear on Wemus’s face when the Papul guide had been approached by the two soldiers on Batu. Yet she was being treated well enough so far. Admittedly the leader had shoved a rather large muzzle at her when he had first removed his hand, and his face had been stern and uncompromising. But after he had made sure she was not going to scream he had lowered the weapon and explained (in unbroken English) that she was in a very dangerous situation here in the jungle with cannibals, bloodthirsty rebels and voracious wildlife all around her, and that it was in the interests of her own safety that she be escorted to a location more harmonious to her well-being. This despite all the protestations on her part that she was being led away from her friends and that she must rejoin them immediately. The officer had been adamant, however, and her declamations had fallen upon decidedly deaf ears. Victoria was not a stupid woman; it did not take her long to realize that she was unofficially a prisoner of the Indoni army.
One part of his story seemed to be verified, however, by the obvious wariness the squad of soldiers displayed as they moved through the steaming jungle. And it was steaming: wisps of condensation lifted around them, sometimes revealing lengths of garishly coloured reptile that bore a passing resemblance to the snakes Victoria had seen in books at home: that is, if the snakes back home had been blessed with heads like the business end of a gardening rake – flat and wide and eyeless. Such grotesqueries apart, Victoria saw little to be really frightened of during the journey. There were some ominous crashings in the undergrowth, and the twitchiness of the troopers bore witness to the potentially threatening nature of their origin, but really it was only the oppressive heat and the insects – forever clouding her vision and biting, biting, biting – that she had to contend with.
After their first sweaty introduction, the officer in charge proved to be exceedingly polite to her, which came as something of a surprise, after seeing Wemus’s reaction to the soldiers. He spoke astonishingly eloquent English (she had to keep reminding herself that he was an alien, and not just a foreigner). He even offered to hold her hand to steady her progress, but of course she wasn’t going to allow that. His brown face was angular and, with the clipped moustache and dark, intelligent eyes, she had to admit, rather handsome. But then, as her father had constantly reminded her, she always did have a bit of a wild streak, and had always had