Doctor Who_ The King of Terror - Keith Topping [86]
And with his hated new face in place, he had been exiled from his homeworld and sent into the lair of the scorpions that had kept his people in bondage for a thousand years.
That was long ago.
He had lived several lifetimes, a superb mimic of Jex ways. A willing accom-plice to those for whom he had worked but, all the time, a secret zealot in the cause of his own people who had suffered under the Jex yoke of oppression for so very long.
Because the Canavitchi life span was so much longer than that of the lice that enslaved them, the thing that had been Ryman had to leave the Jex it was with around every hundred years, and spend time on outlying worlds to create a new fantasy and then return to Jexa again. As one of them.
164
But the Canavitchi always hid it when it had to be hidden. Submerged it in their gestalt-like consciousness amid the phalanx of planets on which they had a presence. And it was during one of those periods that it had first come to Earth.
That had also been long ago. And Earth had changed.
The thing that had been Ryman pressed a concealed button beneath the rim of the mirror and the reflective glass was replaced, smoothly, by a screen that pulsed ultraviolet light. The thing that had been Ryman placed its hands on the screen and intoned words that were as old as time itself.
The screen came to life.
The Canavitchi were not like the Jex, except for the claws and the fangs.
They were green and beautiful, slender and frail-looking, with faces that seemed benign.
They looked, in fact, as unwarrior-like a race as could be imagined. Many, many galactic would-be conquerors over the millennia had made the mistake of thinking the Canavitchi were weak and flaccid. Most came to regret the error of their beliefs.
‘We are at the threshold of the solar system,’ said a voice from within the screen. There were many Canavitchi faces present, but no one spoke. Or rather, they all did.
A single mind, formed from the remnants of a multitude of the broken and defeated. Out of defeat came strength in numbers. Came purpose and solidarity.
Came power.
‘Hunky-dory,’ the thing that had been Ryman said drily. ‘Come on in, the planet’s lovely.’
Voices in the head of the thing that had been Ryman seemed to remonstrate with it for its flippancy. But the overwhelming sensation it could feel was one of joy. A pure, unadulterated release of emotion that threatened to smother it.
‘We are near.’
The thing that had been Ryman spread its arms wide. ‘Come,’ it screamed at its brothers as they filled it with their thoughts and dreams and desires.
It had been alone for so long, in a world of bumbling humans and hated Jex.
Now, its own kind were with it, and it was renewed.
‘Come,’ it screamed again.
So, they came.
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Chapter Eighteen
Destiny Calling
The only problem with Geoff Paynter’s flawlessly executed plan to smoke out the pair of assassins by leading them to a deserted shack miles from anywhere was that there was now another journey to be faced.
The long walk back to the garage from the shack that had become Heldos’s and Perico’s tomb was painfully slow. The burning heat of the late afternoon sun didn’t help. Tegan did her best to help the injured Paynter, but his blood loss was beginning to make her nervous.
Occasionally he stopped to inspect the jagged, gaping wound in his thigh.
Luckily, the bullet seemed to have passed right through his leg since there was an exit wound at the back. And it didn’t appear to have clipped the femur, which would have made walking virtually impossible.
Paynter had been worried that stray fibres from his clothes might have become embedded in the wound and, with the aid of Tegan’s mirror, he had probed into it with his finger whilst he bit on a rolled-up piece of cloth to stop himself screaming.
Then, after ripping the ragged material away from the wound, he and Tegan had applied a makeshift bandage and he had set off at a limp.
On at least two occasions he almost