Doctor Who_ Combat Rock - Mick Lewis [41]
Darkness was creeping in over the jungle.
Victoria was sipping a glass of wine, having just finished an excellent meal.
The officer was courteous and charming. And even though she knew she was a virtual prisoner, she could think of far, far worse captors. The cruiser ride from the jungle had only taken an hour or so, and although she had been full of trepidation and concern over her friends, the officer, who had informed her his name was Agus, had assured her a squad would be sent out first thing the next morning to look for them.
Wameen was a shanty town full of squalor, and animal markets run by naked Papul men with strange penis gourds and lined faces, old before their time under the harsh Papul sun. Victoria’s cheeks had burned as the cruiser descended outside the barracks near the market square and the local men stared impassively at her through the windscreen. But the officers’ quarters were a haven of civilisation and decorum by contrast.
Agus was watching her now, relaxing in a chair opposite her as darkness fell outside the window. She felt another blush rise in her cheeks. He was obviously attracted to her. But how could she be thinking of such things when the Doctor and Jamie were so far away in the jungle. And especially as this man was a... well, he was a foreigner, wasn’t he? (An alien! ) Not for the first time she felt shamed by her closeted Imperialist upbringing. Hadn’t the Doctor opened her mind to a whole new universe of cultures and beliefs outside her straitjacketed Empire world-view, after all? Still, childhood prejudices and impressions were difficult to shake, even though she had made monumental strides to do just that since entering the TARDIS for the first time. Then again, she’d never been one to adhere to the norm in the first place.
Agus was handsome and dashing, and above all, intelligent. She finished her wine and listened to him talk of Empire, and despite the vast distance in space and time between herself and her beloved Victorian period on Earth, she felt curiously at home.
‘We are not murderers, Victoria,’ he was saying slowly, his dark eyes fixed on her unwaveringly, with all the conviction of a man who knows he is fighting for the right side. ‘The Indoni Republic has brought about harmonious integration with Papul. We have not forced them to concede to our wishes. We bring rationality and civilization to a wilderness.’ He poured Victoria and himself another glass of wine as he spoke. Victoria’s gaze shifted from his handsome features to the portrait of the Indoni President on the wall behind the officer. The marked contrast between the two made her confused: Agus was the epitome of apparantly sincere chivalry; the President looked gnawed by avarice and compromised by his own cunning. She thought momentarily of commenting on the distinctly unsavoury-looking appearance of the officer’s revered leader, but Agus’s words were sweeping her away, taking her back to a time of cosy security on her father’s lap beside the fire while he told tales of derring-do and British Integrity in barbaric climes.
‘You have seen the Papul yourself. Penis gourds, bows and arrows, grass huts. The indigenous people are little more than barbarous savages... and I do not mean that in a denigrative way at all: He leaned forward to emphasize that point. ‘They are a good, honest people; just desperately in need of enlightenment. Cannibals and headhunters. When we arrived here, we were met with storms of arrows and naked savages who wanted to eat us.’
Victoria winced and Agus smiled apologetically.
‘We offer them education, employment, technology, finance – all the trappings of a modern, cultured world. Is that so wrong?’
‘Then why do they fear you so much?’
The officer sat back, a look of disappointment on his face.
‘You’ve obviously been talking to seditionists. These people cannot embrace enlightenment and a controlled economy that benefits all. They only want to make profit for themselves and