"SSSSSSSSSSSTOP!!!!!!"
The walls streaked by, smeared by speed into an endless striped tunnel.
Turn ahead. Theta Sigma banked the antigrav cycle and slewed around the corner, the little machine yawing nearly onto its side as they slowed through the shift of angular momentum, only to shoot forward again propelled by the slingshot effect.
"Theta... PLEASE STOP... I'm going to vomit!"
Staircase ahead. Theta Sigma got ready to gun the already overstrained antigrav engine.
"Delta, you idiot! Lean back for Rassilon's sake," he shouted over the high-pitched whine of the little repeller engine. Delta Epsilon's arms were so tightly wrapped around his waist that his breath was nearly cut off. His classmate was rigid with fright and it was going to be difficult to shift the weight on the cycle back far enough to get the lift they needed right now.
The grand staircase rushed toward them, and with less than not quite enough time left, Theta Sigma abruptly straightened his arms, jerking his shoulders into Delta Epsilon's chest, bumping the frightened passenger backward. The nose of the cycle rose, but not enough. It clipped the third step, sending the cycle into an uncontrolled bounce. He struggled to recover, but the cycle didn't respond. They clipped another step, and another, with bone-rattling impact. Chips of marble flew off the abused staircase and bounced off the walls. The cycle wobbled as its stabilizer computer gave up and left its driver with the impossible task of manually balancing its repelling forces. Another CRACK! of metal against marble and the cycle started to roll.
They burst out of the stairwell into the Panopticon -- upside down. Delta Epsilon was shrieking an inarticulate curse of everything and anything he could think of -- which was actually pretty limited, since his mind had been totally emptied by terror. The passenger's arms tightened around Theta Sigma's waist and his fingers were digging into Theta's abdomen.
Theta watched the floor rush by under his head with a sort of detached interest. The extreme discomfort caused by his passenger's death grip on his middle was something remote. He was one with the wobbling, out-of-control cycle. The engine was warm and vibrating between his clamped thighs. The scream of the overburdened machine drilled into his ears and cut through his brain. The feeling of power was beyond exhilarating.
He laughed.
I wonder if I can get control of this thing before we crash, he thought, savoring the strange clarity of the moment.
If he could just shift a bit to the right and balance that against giving the left repeller emitter a little more power -- yes, they were right-side-up again, but the far wall and the gargantuan statue of Omega were rushing toward them much too swiftly. Their forward inertia was several times too great to even consider stopping before they smashed into the architect of the Eye of Harmony -- in a very rude location.
There was a fleeting thought: Would the statue double over in pain as they were crushed to a paste on its groin?
But rather than dwell on the image, he jerked to the side, sending the cycle into another roll. With a quick adjustment to one of the right-side repelling emitters, Theta clung to the handlebars and pressed his body, to the extent he could with Delta gripping him like a vise, down toward the body of the cycle.
The little antigrav cycle corkscrewed away from the statue in an eccentric arc, then sputtered. The engine -- finally pushed beyond the safety limits the engineer who designed it would never admit he included -- coughed.
The little machine made a valiant attempt to catch again, but for practical purposes, it was all over. Gravity reasserted itself. The floor was some four meters away, and Theta Sigma gave a quick thought to the formula for calculating the interrelationship of acceleration, mass, momentum and the impending force of impact. He ultimately gave it up because it didn't really matter. Whatever the quantitative answer, it was going to feel the same when they hit. Particularly if their heads happened to be pointing down when they got there. The cycle's rolling motion made its falling trajectory complex -- and slightly more interesting than a simple vertical drop. But in the final analysis, there simply wasn't enough time to do the subject justice.
Luckily, they hit with the cycle on the bottom. Theta felt the impact through every bone and muscle in his body. The little machine crumpled, absorbing a good deal of the impact, slamming their feet and legs into the floor with considerable force. Delta screamed once more, then was silent -- still clamped to Theta's back, rigid as the marble statue at whose feet they had crashed.
Silence.
Theta pried his passenger's arms open.
"You all right?"
There wasn't an answer.
Theta twisted around. Delta Epsilon's eyes were open -- wide open, frozen open -- with white visible all around the dilated pupils. His mouth was hanging open and his breathing was rapid and shallow. Well, at least he was breathing.
"Get a grip. It's over. We're in one piece!"
Delta continued panting for a moment, then snapped back to reality. "No thanks to you, you, you... lunatic!"
Theta stood up and stepped off the remains of the cycle. He regarded the crumpled heap of metal and silicone chips with faint regret. He had to admit he would be feeling more regret right now if it had been his cycle. But he didn't own a cycle, so this wasn't much of a loss.
Delta tried to stand, but his knees gave way. He ended up sprawled on the polished floor at his classmate's feet.
"Come on! We've got to get out of here. If the Guard find us here, we'll be in real trouble."
"I never should have let you talk me into this," the prostrate student gasped.
"Come ON!"
Theta tried to yank his companion to his feet, but Delta was limp. At least the idiot wasn't rigid anymore, he thought to himself, pulling the other's arm over his shoulder and hauling him upright. Delta shook like a bowl of cadrat-hoof gelatin as he was propelled toward the nearest exit.
They almost made it. They were nearly to the arch that led into the southeast passage, when the red uniform came around the corner.
"Corporal!" Theta exclaimed, quickly reading the man's rank on his domed helmet. "Thank goodness you're here. My friend has been taken suddenly ill! You must help me get him to the infirmary!"
The guardsman looked Delta up and down, immediately noticing his deathly pallor. The pair weren't immediately recognizable as students -- Theta had insisted they leave their scholar's robes behind for this escapade. To the guardsman's eyes, they were two men -- probably laborers, dressed in simple breeches and plain shirts. The one helping his friend was the heartier of the two, sturdily built but not tall, ruddy of complexion and barrel chested. The ailing one was slight of frame and a bit taller -- and so pale as to have had all blood drained from his body.
"By the Eye!" the corporal exclaimed. "Don't try to move him. Lay him down here, and I'll call a med team." He reached for his communicator, but Theta stopped him.
"No! I have to get him out of here, right away. Haven't you ever seen a man go into anaphylactic shock before? It's the flooring material. He's sensitive. If I lay him down here he'll be dead before you can punch in the med code!"
Theta started toward the arch again, and the corporal took Delta's other arm, helping them out into the corridor.
"There's that's better now, isn't it, Delta?" Theta dug his fingers into his friend's side, warning him to go along. Delta jerked in pain and coughed.
"See, he's recovering already. I'll just take him back to his quarters."
"I think he should see a healer," the corporal said.
"I'll take him there, myself. We've already taken you away from your duties. I can handle him now."
The guardsman's eyes narrowed and he looked at Theta suspiciously. "Your names," he said. "For my report."
Delta opened his mouth and was about to answer, but Theta dug his fingers into his ribs again, so all that came out was a strangled cry.
"I'm called Koschei and this is ... Runcible," Theta said quickly.
The corporal took out his data recorder and made a note.
"We'd better be going. The sooner I get him to the infirmary, the better."
Theta mostly dragged his companion away. They heard the general alarm sound, indicating the guardsman had returned to the Panopticon and found the wrecked cycle, before they got to the lifts.
"If you've got an ounce of strength left, leg it for your life!" Theta said, letting go of his companion and taking off at a dead run.
"Is there something I can do for you, sir?"
The middle-aged man on Nell's doorstep blinked, looking surprised that she didn't automatically know what he wanted. "Hmmm... You placed an advertisement," he said, pausing a moment. "For tutoring? Human languages?"
He had dark, straight hair, shot with gray and pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. He looked down his hawkish nose at her with a pair of intense blue eyes set deep beneath arched eyebrows and a high forehead -- waiting for some response Nell was at a loss to provide.
Nell had to remind herself, as she always did, that these people wore their apparent age as a fashion -- that he might be centuries older than he looked, or decades younger. But she guessed he was young, since he wore a student's dark blue robes, with the crimson ribbon of the Prydonian Academy running over his shoulders.
But the man in the robes looked anything but a scholar. His skin was tanned, as if he regularly went outside the domed city, and his shoulders were broad, as if he knew manual labor.
"Oh! I'm sorry. No one ever answered it before. I'd forgotten all about it."
She opened the door wider to admit him. Her flat was spartan, hardly the place to entertain a member of Gallifrey's ruling class. But she felt she needed to invite him in, rather than leave him standing on her doorstep. She wiped her hands nervously on her apron and motioned him to a chair next to her small dining table.
"Would you like some tea?"
"Tea?"
"Well, it's not real tea, mind you. I can't get that here. But I've found a local herb -- dried grassock leaf -- that makes a reasonable substitute."
He looked confused.
"Tea -- it's very common on Earth. A beverage. An infusion of herbs in hot water. It's served with sugar and milk."
"You say it's common on Earth -- then I believe I would like to try it. Thank you."
Nell turned to the put the kettle on. She was a sturdy woman in her early sixties, her close-cropped hair sprinkled with various shades of gray. She observed her visitor covertly as she busied herself preparing the tea. He sat with his back ram-rod straight. She guessed he was embarrassed by these humble surroundings.
"If I might say, sir, your English seems quite fluent. I wonder why you want a tutor?" Nell set a china tea cup in front of her guest. The tea set was one of her few treasures.
"Oh," he said, looking surprised again. "We are speaking English, aren't we."
Nell nodded.
"Um, but this isn't really ... I mean, I want to really speak it. This is just ..."
Nell sighed. Exactly. When she'd arrived, she had thought she could earn a living teaching the people here about her home planet. But reality had set in very quickly. The Time Lords had a telepathic ability to understand and speak languages other than their own. They had no need for language instruction. And for the rest, it turned out that they just weren't very interested.
These days, she cleaned offices in the Citadel. She polished the intricate bits of trim that mechanical cleaners couldn't handle. It wasn't what she'd imagined when she left home, but it was a living, and in the end, that was all that mattered.
She poured a stream of amber, ersatz tea into his cup and set the china pot on the table.
"What difference does it make, whether you learn the language telepathically or by rote?"
The man picked up the cup and was about to take a swig, before Nell stopped him.
"Be careful! That's boiling hot. You'll scald yourself. Put a bit of milk and sugar in it first, then stir it a bit to cool it."
He set the cup back down. "Thank you," he said, a note of gratitude in his otherwise haughty voice. "I'm afraid I'm quite unfamiliar with this." He followed her instructions tentatively, concentrating on the process. Nell had decided he wasn't going to answer her question before he spoke again.
"It's more than just speaking the language. I want to understand it. There is more to a language than what you say. With this," he tapped his head, "I may be able to communicate with you. But I don't really understand your culture. Why you say things the way you say them. That's what I want to learn."
"That seems an -- atypical -- attitude, for your people."
He smiled a little, softening the hard lines of his face. Nell had the fleeting thought that it might be nice to see him laugh.
"You're quite right. My people have a surprising lack of curiosity -- for a society of scholars."
He raised the cup to his mouth again and sipped carefully. "Interesting," he said, considering the contents of his cup.
"Not quite like real tea," Nell replied with a smile. "But as close as I've been able to find."
"You're from Earth?"
Nell nodded, an unexpected lump rising in her throat.
"Would I be too presumptuous to ask how you came to be here?"
"I had little choice in the matter," Nell said, looking away to avoid his eyes. "But I wasn't kidnapped," she added hastily. "I came of my own will."
There was the sound of the door opening explosively, and a woman in her 20s blew into the room. She wore her dark hair in a braid down her back. Her simple shift revealed just enough of a lithe figure. The guest rose politely.
"Mother! I've had the most wonderful afternoon," she said breathlessly. She stopped short when she noticed the man seated at her mother's table.
"This is my daughter, Miranda," Nell said. "This gentleman is interested in tutoring. I'm sorry, sir, but I don't know exactly how to introduce you."
"I am Theta Sigma," he said, smiling warmly now. "Very rude of me not to introduce myself earlier. I'm honored to make your acquaintance, Miranda."
Miranda smiled shyly and made a little curtsey. She regarded the guest through her lashes.
"Perhaps I should be on my way. Could we make an arrangement? Perhaps afternoons?"
Nell paused. She didn't want to turn him down. The extra money would be nice.
"I have to work in the Citadel most afternoons," she said carefully. "Would a little later be convenient for you? Early evenings?"
"Perhaps we could meet in the Citadel then? When you're finished working?"
Nell nodded. The Prydonian student called Theta Sigma bowed then turned to go -- but stopped. "Oh, I almost forgot. You'll have to remind me of things like this, you know." He fished in his pocket and brought out a coin. "Will this be enough?"
"You're quite generous, sir."
"Please," he said, smiling. "Call me Theta. I'm coming to you as a student." He bowed again and left.
Cardinal Borusa sat behind his desk, fingers steepled in front of his face, peering down at the two students seated in his office like insects under a magnifying glass.
"I suppose you have some justification?" he said coldly.
"Practical application of the principles of physics," the shorter and sturdier of the two students replied with an absurd tone of confidence.
Borusa laid his hands on the desktop. He willed himself to stay calm. It simply wouldn't do to lose his temper.
"Practical? You call driving a high-speed antigrav cycle, designed for long-distance travel, through the halls of the Citadel practical? Not to mention the question of ownership of the aforementioned vehicle."
"Ownership is a materialistic concern," Theta Sigma said haughtily.
The cardinal turned to the second student. "And what have you to say?"
"I have no excuse," Delta Epsilon said morosely.
"I think you do. I think you're an idiot."
The taller student hung his head in shame.
"But, since you don't seem to have the intellect one would expect from a bacterium, I can't hold you culpable. Go. Get out of my office. If I see you again before the examinations, I'll expel you on the spot!"
The two students rose, but Borusa stopped the first one.
"Not you. I'm not finished with you."
Theta Sigma returned to his seat -- acutely aware he hadn't gotten away with anything, yet.
When Delta Epsilon was gone, the cardinal turned back to Theta Sigma.
"Tell me, why do you think I haven't turned you over to the Castellan?"
"I don't know."
Borusa stood. He was a tall, imposing figure in his crimson robes and skullcap. He walked out from behind the desk and turned his back on his student. For several moments, he seemed to be studying a painting on his office wall.
"The description the guardsman gave could leave little question of whom he was dealing with, you know. Your proclivity for sunshine marks you rather distinctively."
"But you haven't turned me over."
"The Prydonian Academy is a eminent institution. We graduate leaders -- cardinals, councilors, presidents. Our tradition of scholarship, decorum and probity is the glue that keeps Gallifreyan society together.
"It simply would not do for one of our students to be put on public trial for hooliganism."
"I see."
"Do you? Do you understand?"
"I understand that keeping up appearances is more important than the truth."
"More important than you apparently understand. But be that as it may, don't start celebrating. You're not free yet."
"It would appear that as long as you value appearance above integrity, I have nothing to fear from the Gallifreyan justice system."
"It would appear. But appearances can be deceiving. Your academic performance has been less than astounding these past three terms."
"I'm passing."
"Yes, but only by the slimmest of threads. Even when you do well, it's obvious that if you applied yourself you would do better. There are times when I believe we're boring you ..."
Theta Sigma shrugged.
"Your thesis goes before the academic committee soon. I am chairman of that committee."
"I'm sure my thesis will meet your standards."
"Are you? Really? My, my, aren't you the confident one. Consider this: If your thesis doesn't take a first rank, when weighed against all the indifferent work you've done these past terms, you will be sent down. Even if it is better than I expect it to be, you're barely going to scrape through.
"If you're sent down for academic failure, you won't be a member of the Prydonian College, and I won't have any problem at all with letting the Castellan know which former student has an interest in the physics of high-speed antigrav cycles.
"Now, GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"