Truyện tiếng anh virgin missing adventures 03 venusian lullaby paul cornell

VENUSIAN LULLABY DR WHO – THE MISSING ADVENTURES Also available: GOTH OPERA by Paul Cornell EVOLUTION by John Peel VENUSIAN LULLABY Paul Leonard First published in Great Britain in 1994 by Doctor Who Books an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd 332 Ladbroke Grove London W10 5AH Copyright © Paul Leonard 1994 The right of Paul Leonard to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988 ‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © British Broadcasting Corporation 1994 ISBN 426 20424 Cover illustration by Alister Pearson Venusian based on a sketch by Jim Mortimore Typeset by Galleon Typesetting, Ipswich Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox & Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berks This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser Eat, remember ‘Wlloop!’ Scanned by The Camel Contents Acknowledgements Prologue – Dying 10 Book One – The Purple Cloud Hour Remembering Requests For Assistance Further Requests Battering Ram 14 23 28 35 Book Two – The Green Leaf Hour Searches, Escapes, Predictions Deaths, Voluntary and Otherwise 44 52 Book Three – The Yellow Moss Hour Differences and Decisions Battles for Survival Remembering the Children 62 74 84 Book Four – The Grey Water Hour 10 News 94 11 Orders to Kill 102 12 Venusian Underground 109 13 Trials of Conscience 118 Book Five – The Burning Sky Hour 14 Boarding 15 Losses 16 Deceptions 17 Detonations 18 Victory and Defeat 129 138 145 154 160 Epilogue – Dawning 164 165 This book is dedicated to the memory of my father J E HINDER writer and critic Acknowledgements First and foremost, thanks must go to Jim Mortimore, without whom I would not be typing acknowledgements today, largely because it was his idea that I should write a Doctor Who novel in the first place; also because of his endless advice, criticism, copy-editing, loan of books, videos, etc., plus of course his incredible drawings of Venusians (see front cover) I must also thank Craig Hinton for extremely useful comments on the text; any nice pieces of continuity you notice will almost certainly be due to him (and if not, they’ll be Jim’s) Thanks also to my mother for letting me use her telly to watch the above-mentioned endless Doctor Who videos; to Chris, Barb and Nick of the Bristol Community Writers’ Group for support, advice and general writers’ chat; to the Bristol SF group, i.e Brian, Chris (again), David and Dalva, the two Matthews, Peter-Fred, Richard, Tim and others too numerous to mention, for lots of free ginger beer and stimulating – if occasionally radioactive – conversation; and finally to Anna, Ann H, Helen, Nadia, Anita and Joe, Patrick and Martine, and all at BT for support and encouragement, cash loans, Xmas pressies, good food, cups of tea, etc - They were waiting They were waiting for permission They were waiting for permission to remember They had known there was food in the rocks whirling around the little yellow sun But they had made a mistake Misled by the blue oxygen sky of the third planet, they had pounced on it, hungry and eager; but they had found only chemistry True, it was complex, helical chemistry; it metabolized in the muddy pools, it replicated, it mutated It might one day be Mind It might one day be edible But for now, it was nothing Disappointed, they had licked the salty scum from their fingers and returned to their ship Then the second planet had moved into view, dark around the limb of the star They had smelled its heat, tasted the fear in the Mind living there, the unmistakable flavour of imminent death They had probed that Mind, sought out the juices and sinews of its culture until they found a way of getting what they needed: a mind that was willing to admit them A weak, individual mind; a mind ready to grant permission But they would have to wait The permission, they were told, could only come with a death This was acceptable to them, and they said as much It was more than acceptable: it was poetry, truth For they had been predators, long before they had travelled the stars Once, with long legs and long teeth, they had lived on the brown plains under a russet sun They had run after their prey, brought them down with claws and teeth in the ancient, honourable way There had been permission then, the permission granted by the weakness and fear in the eyes of the prey Killing had never been done without it When there had been no permission, there had been waiting and hunger, and games with death in the years of drought And here, amongst the rocks whirling around the dwarf yellow star, there would still be waiting, there would still be hunger, there would still be games with death The final permission was still required They were not resentful, they were not impatient: they enjoyed the game There was nothing of it that they did not enjoy The searching, the mistakes, the waiting, the eating that was soon to come, when they would rend the flesh of the second planet with their teeth, fill the emptiness of their minds with its juices – Oh yes, they were happy They were happy to wait for the feast They were the happiest creatures in the universe Prologue Dying D harkhig knew that he was dying when the parade of his grandchildren began One after another they entered his bedchamber, neat and quick in their young green skins Some said nothing, some muttered, ‘Honoured sire.’ One tried to talk about a language he was learning, another politely admired the moss-tapestries growing on the walls Each one would stay for a few minutes, visibly uncomfortable, their eye-stalks waving about in five different directions, lifting one leg after another to inspect the new goldenwood shoes woven around their hooves Dharkhig watched them and concentrated on breathing When they realized that he wasn’t going to speak, each one would solemnly open all five mouths and turn slowly around in the full ceremonial greeting for a leader of the clan Dharkhig eyed those politely gaping orifices, the fields of young, white teeth with only the occasional gleaming chitinous filling, and imagined the quick young tongues tasting the foul air exuded by his mouldering body He knew they were glad to go When he spoke at last the child who was with him jumped, her five legs drawn up beneath her as if she were fleeing a ghost She landed again with a solid thud, her eye-stalks at full extension, all five eyes staring at Dharkhig ‘Thought I was gone already, did you?’ he asked ‘No – no, grandfather, honoured sire – er – ’ So well schooled they can’t speak any more, thought Dharkhig irritably ‘Then as I say and move me to the window,’ he said aloud The child – Zidifghil, was it, or Midharkhij? – moved hesitantly towards the trolley-chair ‘The watcher-for-death – awk! – that is, the honoured Trikhobu – she said you were not to be – ’ Dharkhig closed three of his eyes, felt the terrible weakness returning ‘Just move me, child,’ he breathed Unwanted fluids rose in his throats, tasting of bitter death He swallowed with difficulty: his belly heaved, and a cloud of tiny silver dust-flies danced somewhere inside his brain Dharkhig watched them for a while ‘Grandfather – sire – oh!’ Dharkhig forced open his east eye, saw the discomfited child hovering over him, her skin flushed blue with effort He opened his other eyes, one by one His trolley-chair was by the window She had moved him: he had slept, or fainted, through it ‘Only sleeping, child,’ he managed With a supreme effort, he reached out his east arm and touched the young one’s quivering lips She flushed even deeper, and Dharkhig was sure her belly quivered with pleasure inside its straps and wrappings Moments like this made him doubt all that he had worked for: children like this, surely, should be given hope, not told to wait placidly for the end of the world But what else could I do, child? he begged silently as he lowered his hand What choice was there? He forced himself to think no more of it, and turned three of his eyes to survey the scene outside the window The sun was high, he saw; higher than he had hoped It would be many hours until sunset Even through the layers of tinted glass the light was barely endurable, the glare of a roaster’s oven rather than that of a living world The heat rose in visible streams from the chitinous roofs of the city, turbu- .. .VENUSIAN LULLABY DR WHO – THE MISSING ADVENTURES Also available: GOTH OPERA by Paul Cornell EVOLUTION by John Peel VENUSIAN LULLABY Paul Leonard First published in... Britain in 1994 by Doctor Who Books an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd 332 Ladbroke Grove London W10 5AH Copyright © Paul Leonard 1994 The right of Paul Leonard to be identified as the Author of... saw small Venusian bodies scrambling around in near-darkness ‘Alien! Now we’ve got two!’ squeaked a Venusian child The Doctor struck an everlasting match, and Barbara saw that all the Venusians