‘If you want to help,’ shouted the Doctor above the ever-increasing sound of console activity, ‘come and monitor these cosmic graphics.’ The Time Lord pointed at a small screen to the left of him as he continued working with a bank of levers. Peri needed little prompting as the TARDIS’s framework started to vibrate intermittently. She peered at her colleague’s face for some comment, but it was quite clear that things were getting a little hot. Even the Doctor could not offer a glib remark.
Aram moved her cheek against the slimy touch of a cold damp floor. It was the first thing she sensed as the pain from the android’s shot repeated once more through her small frame, making her leg muscles contract involuntarily until the sensation passed.
Slowly opening her eyes, Aram attempted to focus some attention on her surroundings. The darkness around was punctuated by a collection of multi-coloured lights making up a bank of mechanical controls. The incessant noise of running water emphasised her position deep underground, and her body reacted with a shiver to the cold atmosphere for the first time. Climbing to her feet, Aram clung to the side of the cavern, trying hard to regain her sense of balance.
Announced with the sound of a high-pitched motor, a large mass began to move from out of the shadows into a thin filament of projected light that cast a bright space in the middle of the sodden floor.
‘So you nearly got away?’
Aram scrutinised the shape of a high-backed chair, only to hear the occupant’s familiar voice once more. It was the Borad.
‘You will never betray
me
.’
An injection of fear pumped across the rebel’s body, almost capturing control of her voice. Yet with a burst of courage, she yelled to the Borad to show himself. The ruler agreed, and gingerly the mechanical chair began to spin round. Instantaneously, on the point of eye to eye contact, a thick beam of powerful light encapsulated the young girl as she screamed her last. Her wide eyes gazed at her attacker for a split second until they were darkened, and saw no more.
Opening a roundel set into a section of the TARDIS wall, the Doctor continued the struggle to save his time-ship from the Kontron Tunnel. Peri, glued to the screen, occasionally updated him on the situation, though her sketchy knowledge of cosmic graphics left a lot to be desired.
‘When I find out who or what is responsible for this time corridor in space ...’ gasped the Time Lord, desperately attempting to repair a sub-circuit, ‘... they’ll not only have me, but the entire High Council of Gallifrey, to answer to.’
Peri’s thoughts were more mundane. With the threat of total obliteration would there be time for the Doctor to avert what seemed increasingly inevitable? She had not bargained on a burial in space, or at least not yet.
‘How’s the graphics?’ bleated the Doctor as he plaited two bare wires together, a screwdriver between his marble-white teeth.
‘The curve is now a flat line.’ Peri paused for a reaction, but realised she would have to prompt one. ‘Is that bad?’
‘No,’ the Doctor grunted. ‘Disastrous.’
The Timelash occupied more than just a central position within the Inner Sanctum chamber. Its pyramid doors opposed the solid giant entrance portals on the other side of the room, emphasising the two ways to take one’s leave from the Inner Sanctum.
The chamber consisted of seven thrones, one for each of the Inner Sanctum, and a view-screen that took the place of the Borad himself. Littered about the area were monitoring cameras, commonplace on Karfel. The Borad remained all-knowing and all-seeing at all times.
Kendron and Brunner, two relatively new councillors, occupied positions near the portals, as others entered for the regular daily meeting, dressed in ceremonial togas as befitted High Karfelons. Kendron was a tall individual, though very timid for his stature. He hovered around Brunner, a shorter dark-haired Karfelon, who always appeared more in control of things.
Two more councillors entered, and met at the chamber’s geometrical centre, as far as possible from the metallic senses of the Borad. Mykros and Vena were betrothed, a young couple who had found themselves elevated somewhat quickly after former members had met untimely ends, departing through the Timelash. Convicted of treachery, they were dispatched without trial; the way the Borad dealt with all offenders and rebels against his dictatorial regime.
‘They’re bringing up Tyheer,’ whispered Mykros, as he drew close to the lady he loved. Vena was visibly shaken and asked for an explanation. Mykros shrugged, stopping to look over his shoulder. He smiled to some of his colleagues and turned back to Vena.
‘The Borad has promised us a better place to live. We must trust him,’ she suggested, trying to be objective.
This comment was simply fuel to Mykros’s burning fire.
A young handsome Karfelon, moulded as a trained warrior, he was committed to peace and democracy, and the time had come to effect positive action against an evil suffocating regime. Mykros took Vena’s arms and squeezed her gently.
‘What kind of ruler never shows himself? Casts his critics into oblivion and continues to experiment with time itself at the cost of people’s freedom?’
Vena reeled, knowing her betrothed to be right, but waiting to stand by her father, the Maylin, and leader of the Inner Sanctum.
‘The Borad’s working for our ultimate good,’ stressed Vena, as she checked her voice and continued in quieter tones. ‘We must trust him.’
‘And the war?’ returned Mykros, as he reminded her of the imminent attack by their neighbours the Bandrils. ‘Is that good leadership?’
That was a question that remained unanswered as Vena’s father, Maylin Renis, and his personal assistant, Tekker, entered to commence proceedings. Uniformed guardoliers, sporting menacing net hoods that obscured visual familiarity, took their positions within the grey-walled meeting chamber - a dull, matt, lifeless area despite its importance to the planet. But then, most of the Citadel had been downgraded at the Borad’s orders. All mirrors and shiny articles had been removed and replaced with tapestries and flora.
As the Inner Sanctum took their seats, Tekker officially announced the Maylin’s presence. Unlike his assistant, Renis did not enjoy pomp and ceremony and rarely revelled in his high position. In fact, the stress and pressure of his job was beginning to take its effect on the elderly councillor whose lined face bore evidence of long hours of duty and continuous worry. Tekker, however, made up for Renis’s lack of flair in every way. Ambitious, vibrant and highly charged with self-opinionated charm, the pompous Karfelon strutted forward to take a central position.
The meeting took shape with the introduction of Tyheer and Gazak into the chamber. Both men were escorted by guardoliers who used their neck loops more than efficiently on their wincing prisoners. Vena was horrified and attempted to stand, but Mykros quickly held her back.
Struggling, Tyheer unleashed a plea for pity, maintaining his fidelity to the Inner Sanctum and the Borad, though this did little to assist his predicament.
Maylin Renis, not relishing the duty he had to perform, stood to read the charges against the captured rebels.
‘For organising rebellious acts against our honoured ruler, the Borad, the people of Karfel condemn Gazak and Tyheer to the Timelash.’
Gazak screamed to be heard, despite a sharp increase of pressure about his throat. Moved, but not visibly so, Renis continued: ‘Be grateful the Borad has spared your miserable lives.’
With a curt gesture, Kendron and Brunner manned the controls of the Timelash which were situated to one side of the five-foot pyramid’s opening doors. Dazzling lights and a blanket of high-intensity haze pushed forward to fill every shadowy crevice in the chamber. Sparkling ringlets of incandescent flares reaching out to oblivion engaged the attention of all in the chamber, generating mixed emotions of fear, wonderment and curiosity.
Guardoliers marched the two condemned prisoners forward to the spinning vortex, as Vena closed her eyes.
Mykros seethed with anger, knowing he was helpless to avert young Gazak’s fate.
The boy scanned the Timelash, his eyes darting about the room for a means of rapid escape. A last imploring look to Renis merely met with a cold embarrassed turn of the head. Gazak was on his own. With all the energy he could muster, the young rebel flexed his muscles, ramming his elbow in a backwards movement in order to break free. He knew there would be little hope of escape even if he did break from his captor, but Gazak’s spirit remained strong, his sense of freedom high up to the last uncomfortable steps of the terrifying vortex.
Struggling wildly, the youth could feel the pain of his shoulder injury sear through his frame like a laser beam cutting through metal. He screamed and continued to contend with the stocky guardoliers who brought all their energies to bear on the kicking prisoner.
Vena pulled a soft cloth from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. She reflected on her long acquaintance with Gazak and his family. His father had been high councillor of grain production at the time the Borad ordered a cessation of trade. When he still continued to load shipments for the Bandrils, he was taken away from his offices, never more to be seen again. Gazak’s mother died at his birth, and so he had depended upon and loved his father very much. His only course of action was to join the rebels and fight for the revenge he passionately strived for.
Now, inches from the entrance of the sparkling whirlpool of time and uncontrolled energy, both guardoliers levered their cargo forward in a thrusting action. Gazak bellowed his last pathetic scream, calling his father’s name pitifully. Then, within split seconds, he no longer existed in Karfel’s time and space.
Tyheer yelled as he realised it was now his turn. It took four guardoliers to hold his struggling body down before picking him up and marching him to his fate. The chamber echoed with his final pleas, as Renis hurried the guardoliers on. The Maylin was far from happy with any of his sentences, noting the Timelash to be a particularly evil and unnecessary form of punishment. Yet, glimpsing the monitor in the corner of the room, he realised the consequences of failing the Borad’s explicit instructions for dealing with insurrection.
Rather like throwing a sack of coal into a burning kiln, the four guardoliers ejected Tyheer unmercifully into the concentric rings of the time corridor. A blood-chilling scream bounced from wall to wall in the room for several seconds after his departure, sending shivers down Vena’s spine. Mykros looked at Vena. Any comment would have been unnecessary.
Brunner closed the doors of the Timelash as Kendron shut down the power to the four-sided cone. The dull light source of the chamber resumed as Renis dismissed the congregation.
‘What about today’s business, Maylin?’ questioned Tekker glibly, with a honey-sweet sickly grin.
‘Tomorrow,’ grunted the Maylin, as he walked to his daughter. Bowing subserviently, Tekker took his leave, adjusting his toga with the dignity of a Maylin himself.
Then, quite unexpectedly, the Borad’s personal screen announced a communication. All Karfelons froze to cast their undivided attention to their ruler.
The ageing features of the Borad - a white-haired man -
filled the tiny screen. He bellowed a message that underlined the despatch of the two conspirators.
‘You see what happens when rebels dare to lift their treacherous fingers against me. I will not tolerate any more infamy. Any further rebellious attacks will be dealt with instantly.’ The Borad paused. His small, poker-like eyes burned hot spots on the monitor screen. His silence was more fearful than his tongue. ‘That is all. Only remember I am working for the good of everybody.’
The screen darkened as watching faces broke away from the conditioned attraction of the old man’s image. Mykros turned briskly, purposefully placing his back against the TV monitor.
Renis broke the atmosphere and approached his son-in-law to-be. After customary Karfelon pleasantries, Renis tackled the young man’s mood but Mykros refused to be led into discussion. Instead he turned the tables on the Maylin.
‘Vena tells me Tola is recovering Renis,’ he said.
Vena moved forward to also engage into the conversation.
‘Tola is recovering as well as to be expected, Mykros. It’s all one can expect after such major surgery.’ Renis’s face indicated his sadness, which the nature of his position forced him to keep at bay.
‘I hope you are looking after my only daughter?’ the Maylin continued, looking at Vena with a half smile.
Vena herself was far from pleased with matters. The barbaric act of the Timelash disposal was still too fresh in her mind. ‘They did not even have a trial, Father.’ Renis’s expression altered sharply. Unprepared to enter into any further details on the matter, he scolded his daughter for her unloyal protest, taking Mykros aside, his arm about his shoulders.
‘You’ll have to tame her wicked spirit, Mykros. It’s been getting sharper with age. She means well but like her mother she tends to nose into affairs far beyond her comprehension.’
Mykros pulled away from him. He glared at the Maylin almost in disgust. It was not necessary for Mykros to qualify his glare, as he was sure Renis understood his feelings.
Without another word, the Maylin slipped out of the now empty chamber. Mykros pulled Vena towards him and they embraced. The camera monitor continued to scan.
Deep within the lower levels of the Citadel, the Borad cursed the lovers. Stabbing a button on his chair control, he removed the picture from his view-screen. He had seen enough.
Mykros tugged at Vena. She knew that he was about to risk his own life in an attempt to wipe out the tyranny that constrained them all.
3
Using a screwdriver to complete the last circuit, the Doctor replaced the roundel and repositioned it within the TARDIS wall. He beamed: ‘That should do it.’
Peri was more than delighted, and left her position by the central console, assuming the problem had been solved.
Yet her approach received an unfriendly glare from the Time Lord. Peri stopped in her tracks. ‘It is okay now, isn’t it?’