01 - Timewyrm- Genesys.pdf - Doctor Who novels - KotwGlanach

TIMEWYRM: GENESYS by John Peel .

Contents:

PREFACE by Peter Darvill-Evans, introducing the New Adventures series.

FOREWORD by Sophie Aldred.

PROLOGUE.

1: SERPENT IN THE GARDEN

2: MEMORIES ARE MADE OF.

3: WHEN YOU WISH UPON ISHTAR

4: PAST LIVES

5: AMBUSH

6: SPYING TONIGHT

7: TALKING UNION

8: BAND ON THE RUN

9: NITRO NINE, GODDESS NIL

10: ACE IN THE HOLE

11: PARTY PIECE

12: AVRAM'S TALE

13: SPLIT INFINITIES

14: THE MOUNTAINS OF MASHU

15: GUARDIANS AT THE GATE OF DAWN

16: THE LAKE OF SOULS

17: UTNAPISHTIM

18: ESCAPE

19: THE FEAST OF ISHTAR

20: ACE'S HIGH

21: ARMAGEDDON

22: APOTHEOSIS

23: TIMEWYRM!

EPILOGUE

***** PREFACE *****

Here is an introductory word about Doctor Who - The New Adventures: continuity.

Our objectives in publishing this series of novels are: to continue the time and

space peregrinations of the Doctor and Ace from the point at which we last saw

them on television, at the end of the story Survival; to continue the Doctor Who

traditions of exciting science fiction stories laced with humour, drama and

terror; and to continue the trend of recent seasons of television stories

towards complex, challenging plots with serious themes.

Within these objectives there is room for a universe of types of story and

styles of writing, and I've encouraged the authors of The New Adventures to take

full advantage of the scope offered by the medium of the novel. In Timewyrm:

Genesys John Peel has produced a two-fisted, sword-wielding, action-packed

adventure that doesn't pause for breath between the first and last pages. Each

subsequent book in the Timewyrm series - Exodus by Terrance Dicks, Apocalypse by

Nigel Robinson, and Revelation by Paul Cornell - has its own style; all,

however, share the common Doctor Who heritage. A second series, of three novels,

is in preparation.

Creating a new series of original Doctor Who novels is a considerable

undertaking - I can vouch for the fact that the TARDIS is a tricky craft to

pilot - and thanks are due to all who made it possible: Chris Weller of BBC

Books, for letting us do it; John Nathan-Turner, for supporting the project

right up to the end of his Producership; Andrew Cartmel, Marc Platt, Ben

Aaronovitch, John Peel, Ian Briggs, and JeanMarc Lofficier, for providing the

plot and characterization details out of which I have tried to create a

consistent background for the series; Andrew Skilleter, for stepping into the

void to illustrate the covers; Sylvester McCoy and Sophie Aldred, for providing

such vivid characterisations of the Doctor and Ace, for allowing us to use their

faces on our book covers, for supporting Doctor Who in general and The New

Adventures in particular, and thanks especially to Sophie for her generosity in

writing a foreword for this novel; Rhona MacNamara, my assistant, without whom I

simply couldn't have done it; and every single one of the people who have

submitted proposals for stories.

The Doctor continues - unregenerated, but with a new lease of life.

Peter Darvill-Evans, Series Editor February 1991

***** FOREWORD *****

The legend of Gilgamesh and Enkidu takes me back to wet Thursday afternoons in

the history room at school, doodling in my rough book and half listening to a

droning voice at the front of the class. And when John Peel mentioned that his

new book in some way encompassed that age-old story, my heart sank and I

remembered a very bad essay that I'd once written about Mesopotamia. "Oh, great:

that's fantastic," I muttered, summoning up a false grin. Imagine my delight

when John sent me his first draft which I started reading and couldn't put down.

Why hadn't my history teacher described these characters as though they existed

and shaped a real world, our world, all those thousands of years ago? Well, I

suppose she can be forgiven, for she had no TARDIS, no Time Lord and no Ace to

help her relate something so far back in time to our modern lives.

No Doctor, no Ace. That's something we all feared would happen at one point. I

was heartbroken to say farewell to such a dynamic, interesting character, one

who was such a good foil to Sylvester's irascible, quirky, utterly lovable

Doctor, a character to whom even strangers could relate and use as a role model,

a real life companion who reflected our society and especially the young woman's

role at the end of 1980s.

And now all is not lost! Ace continues to live on the printed page, as bolshy,

as aggravating and just as much a headache for the "professor" as she was on the

small screen.

I'm very honoured to have been asked to write the foreword for what marks an

exciting journey ahead for Doctor Who. I wish the writers good luck and happy

hunting, for there are an infinite number of stories yet to be told.

And you, the reader, will ensure that this strangely wonderful man will continue

to inspire the imaginations of millions of people all over the globe, with his

twinkling eye and his unquenchable thirst for knowledge and truth whenever or

wherever he pops his head out the door of that battered old police box.

Finally my thanks go to all those who have welcomed me so warmly into the Doctor

Who family. I have this strange feeling that it's one I shall never leave.

Sophie Aldred. February 1991

For Jeremy and Paula Bentham and it's about time.

People of Eridu, hear me! You who shop in the market place, listen.

You who tend the vines by the Great River, stop your work.

You who guard the flocks from wolves and lions, give heed.

Mighty are the deeds of Gilgamesh, king of men!

Strong is the arm of Enkidu, brother to the beast!

Mysterious are the paths of Ea, god of wisdom.

Bright the promises by Aya, goddess of the dawn.

You who would know their story, listen!

When the gods make war, the Earth trembles.

Stars fall from their fixed abodes and rain death upon the world.

Glorious and fearful Ishtar came among us

Ancient and cunning, Utnapishtim made his path known to us.

If we did not have Gilgamesh to watch over us, where should we be?

If the arm of Enkidu was not raised in our defence, should we not fall?

If the wisdom of Ea had not spoken in our ears, would we still live?

If the brightness of Aya had not been granted us, how could we see?

Listen then, and hear their tale, people of Eridu.

You who dwell between the waters, give me ear.

I am Avram, the songsmith. What I saw, I tell.

PROLOGUE

The starship shuddered. Another bolt lashed through the ether and ripped at the

ship's exposed flank. Somewhere a klaxon sounded, unheeded and unceasing. Smoke

drifted through the darkened corridors. In the blood-red emergency lighting the

creeping smoke was surreal, a living creature crawling towards the remnant of

the crew.

Hissing to herself in fury, she surveyed the scene in the control room through

the dying eyes of the pilot. Struggling to obey her and to stay alive, he fought

back the clutching fingers of death. The pain in his chest subsided, and he

tried to reach the screens with his right hand. In a haze, he realized that he

no longer had a right hand. Using his left he finally managed to hit the

controls.

"You cannot die yet!" Her command thundered through his fading brain. "Focus on

the readings! Focus, damn you!" He finally forced his head to turn far enough to

see the figures on the screen. Dimly, he knew that they meant that the shields

about most of the craft had collapsed. Several sections had been gutted, and

whoever had been in them had been either fried or sucked into the void. Their

attacker had finished this pass, and was returning to make another. It would

undoubtedly be the final one. Already the crippled starship was hanging together

almost entirely through the force of her mind.

"Imbeciles!" she screamed, and within their minds they all felt her contempt and

fury - those that were still alive. She could sense no more than a dozen left to

her now. In a spasm of rage she wrenched her mind away from the pilot, and felt

him die. Normally she would have hovered nearby, licking mentally at his death-

throes. Now there was no time to enjoy herself. In moments she, too, might be

dead.

She slipped into the mind of the navigator. He was still almost whole and began

the scans that she had ordered. This far out from the hub of Mutters spiral

there were very few possible havens for her. The figures scrolled upwards. Only

one planet that could sustain humanoid life in the small sun system ahead of

them. Not that she needed such an environment to live in, but her slaves would.

The other worlds showed up as totally unsuitable for her purposes. No life of

any kind. As for the third planet...

She cursed at the results. Life, yes - but no intelligence! No radio waves, no

radioactivity, no sign of industrialization! Useless, completely useless! The

captain's panicked thoughts broke through her waves of fury, and she burrowed

into his mind. He was once again becoming frantic with fear as their attacker

swung about to begin the final assault - the barrage that they could never

survive.

She forced herself to become calm. Well, this third world would have to do.

Without technology she would be trapped there, but if there was life, then she

could feed and survive. In time, what she needed might become available - if she

managed to escape this attack.

Enclosed within her life-pod, she started the launch sequence. But she would

need to camouflage her escape. If they knew she was baling out, the others would

hunt her down. She had to do this very carefully indeed...

She reinforced her grip on the navigator's mind, and made him change the ship's

heading. Dropping the remaining, useless shields, she had the hands she

controlled start the overload sequence on the reactor core. The countdown began.

Her thought turned to the captain, and she made him manoeuvre the ship about.

Then she triggered the drive units - and propelled her dying ship directly into

the path of the oncoming aggressor. "Taste this!" she screamed mentally, in

defiance, at her old foes. One of her slender talons hovered over the trigger.

There was just one final act to perform...

The last eleven crewmembers were barely clinging to their foolish lives. Well,

there was still something that they could do for her. They could die. She sent

the command, feeding off their final energies, feeling her own mind grow

slightly stronger with each death. There was no time to savour the feasting, so

she was forced to rush. She had no idea when she might be able to feed again.

When they were dead, she hit the release.

Space surrounded her. She barely had time to register the bulk of her tattered

ship rushing past her before it exploded, showering slivers of debris across her

field of vision. The explosion would have blanked her attackers" sensors long

enough for them to have missed her escape. She switched from drive to standard,

slipping back into normal space-time. The wreckage faded from about her tiny

craft. With luck the blast would have damaged the attacking ship.

The third planet hung below her. It was half-lit by the light of its sun, and

gleamed blue and white. It was almost like home. She began a closer scan, and

cursed as each of the indications confirmed what she had read from the main

ship. No concentrations of electro-magnetic power; no emissions of exhaust

gases; no transport systems; no communication signals. Whatever life was here

was so primitive as to be totally useless to her. She needed intelligence, not

simply animal life. She couldn't feed from uncomprehending beasts. Without minds

to plunder, she would die. That pretty little globe below would become her tomb.

Abruptly, an alarm sounded. Glancing at the screens again, she saw that the pod

had been damaged. She had left her escape too late. The thrusters were almost

empty of fuel, and she was losing control of the small vessel. Gravity was

pulling her into the planet's embrace.

She found herself enjoying the irony of the situation. Having escaped, and taken

control of the starship, and fled across space, she was going to die in this

barren, lifeless wasteland. It would all end here... Was it better to die in the

flames of planetary entry or later, alone and starving for the only food she

could eat? After all of her efforts - to die like this, in solitude, in this

wretched spot, this wasteland planet of blue and white and green...

1: SERPENT IN THE GARDEN

"Gilgamesh!" The voice was a whisper on the breeze, but Gilgamesh heard it

clearly. Frowning, he glanced about the wooded slopes. Now there was no sign of

the strange white antelope he had followed from the plains below. That idiot

calling his name had scared it away before he had been able to find a clear shot

with his spear.

"Gilgamesh!" There is was again, and louder this time "O fool, shut up!" hissed

the hunter, annoyed. Shielding his eyes from the glare of the sun, Gilgamesh

darted his gaze about the copse. It was most strange - he had seen the white

deer enter this grove, and yet there were no tracks on the ground, and no

movements in the bushes. And, now that he thought of it, no sign of the owner of

that mysterious voice.

"Gilgamesh," the voice called again. "This way, O man."

Gilgamesh flung his spear down in disgust. He might as well try and fight a fly

in the market place as hunt a deer with that idiot yelling. Then, thinking

better of it, he retrieved the spear. There were still brigands in these border

hills, and it was best to be safe, although he was carrying no valuables and it

was unlikely that any common robber would recognize him as the king of Uruk. He

looked nothing like a king at the moment all he wore for the hunt was a knotted

loincloth, a pair of sandals, and a couple of armbands. He had reluctantly left

his regal clothing in the palace of Uruk before he had embarked on this spying

mission.

It hadn't been his idea, initially. He hated spying. Dirty, underhanded and

devious, those were the ways of the spy. Gilgamesh preferred honest, open

warfare - the thrust of the spear, the well-aimed arrow from the bow, the war-

club crushing the skull of some opponent. Those were deeds of which men could

sing. But to skulk about, prying and spying -gods, it set his teeth on edge. But

his advisers had insisted that more information was needed before any warfare

could be considered. Gilgamesh had bowed to their collective wisdom when his

trusted friend Enkidu had agreed with them.

01 - Timewyrm- Genesys.pdf

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