01 - Timewyrm- Genesys

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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.
The strain of silent slinking had soon proved too much for Gilgamesh. Having
left the plains of his own kingdom to venture into the realm of the ruler of
Kish, he had rapidly lost all patience with his mission. The flight of the white
deer ahead of him into the hills had been all the excuse he had needed to leave
the rest of the patrol in Enkidu's capable - if hairy -hands, and to make his
way up the slopes in pursuit of the fleeing hart.
His leather sandals made no noise as he crept toward the source of that
irritating voice. His bronze skin, burnt by the eternal sun, rippled over his
muscles. His huge fist held the spear, his only weapon. For a fleeting moment he
wondered if it had been a wise move to leave the patrol and his friends to hunt
this weird deer alone. Then he buried the thought; was he not Gilgamesh,
mightiest of the sons of men? Was he to be shamed into running by some
perplexing voice? He broke through the ring of trees and halted in amazement.
When he had led a hunt through this spot barely two seasons ago trees had filled
the crown of the hill. Now the branches lay burnt and broken. In the centre of
the space was a pit. The evidence suggested it had been recently dug. But who
would dig a pit up here, on a hill that no one normally visited? And for what
purpose? Gilgamesh moved forward, cautiously. Again, the voice called his name,
and this time he could tell that the owner of the voice must be within the pit.
Perhaps someone had fallen into the pit and needed his help to climb out? Hardly
likely - for who could not see such a large hole in the earth? Except perhaps at
night - but the voice was not calling for help, but for him... If it were
someone trapped within the pit, how could they know that it was Gilgamesh
passing by, and not some other man? Standing on the lip of the pit, his spear
held firmly before him, Gilgamesh stared down into the depths.
It was like the mountain of the gods down there! Smoke rose from the blackness,
fading as it curled into the sunlight. Gilgamesh could not imagine what might
have caused this. Then he recalled - two nights ago, during the feast of
Shamash, one of the priests had seen a star falling from the sky! Gilgamesh had
assumed that the priest had taken a little too much of the new beer, but what if
the man had indeed told the truth? Could this be where the star had fallen? The
idea appealed to him. No one in human knowledge had ever found a fallen star. It
was well known that stars changed into common rock when they fell from their
appointed places in the sky. Yet Gilgamesh could see the brightness of something
that lay within the pit. If he could be the first man to bring back to Uruk a
star still burning, it would be yet another triumph for them to add to the songs
about him! With hope growing, but still with care, he started down the slope
into the pit.
Once out of the glare of the sun, he could see more clearly, and he paused yet
again. Jagged pieces of something that glinted littered the walls of the pit. He
bent to touch his spear to a piece of it. The object rang when struck, as copper
would. But this was certainly not copper. Carefully, he picked up the object. It
felt like copper, but it looked a little like dull silver. It was hard and
polished like metal, but what could it be? "Gilgamesh!" The voice was back,
whispering from ahead of him. "Do not be afraid."
"I am not afraid, O voice," he said, annoyed. "No man calls Gilgamesh afraid."
"I am sorry, Gilgamesh," the voice murmured, but it sounded more amused than
ashamed. "But I am no man, as you will see if you come further forward."
Warily, Gilgamesh stood his ground. "Well, O voice that belongs to no man, why
should I come forward? I am the king of this hill. I think that you should come
to me, not me to you."
"Ahhh." It was a long, drawn-out sigh. "If I could come to you, I should. But I
am not able to move that far."
"What are you, then, that can sound like a man, but not move like one?" "Come
and see," the voice suggested. Although it was still the same as he had been
hearing all along, it now seemed to have taken on further qualities. Now it
sounded definitely female. Gilgamesh knew that he had nothing to fear from any
woman, and moved further into the pit.
He saw where the jagged pieces of the not-metal he had found had come from. In
the heart of the pit lay a large shape, something like that of the immense
ziggurat that was at the heart of Uruk itself. But this ziggurat's shape was
broken, the perfect pyramid form marred by shattered holes. It was from these
holes that the spirals of smoke and steam were issuing, in slow, hissing spurts.
One hole, more regular than the rest, looked almost like a normal door - but who
would build a ziggurat with a door like that? And, who would build a ziggurat of
this size and then hide it in a pit on the top of a hill in the wilderness?
Gilgamesh could see within the regular-shaped hole the creature that had been
calling him. Whatever it was, it had told the truth: it was no man.
It was about the size of a man, and about the shape of a man. But instead of
skin it was covered in the same shining non-metal as the ziggurat itself.
Instead of eyes it had twin golden fires that burned without consuming any fuel.
It had arms and legs, too, and a body. But it had neither hair nor clothing. Yet
it was not naked, as a man would be naked. Nor was it shaped like a woman.
It moved slightly. It had been sitting in the hole, leaning against something as
if it was tired. Now it hunched forward, and raised a hand toward him.
"Come to me, Gilgamesh," the female voice urged.
"No," he replied, slowly. "I am not some fool, to do the bidding of a stranger.
What are you called, and where are you from?" A hissing noise escaped the
creature, and Gilgamesh could see what appeared to be a mouth of sorts, under
the burning eyes. "I am called... Ishtar."
"Ishtar?" he echoed. Could this creature be telling the truth? "Ishtar is the
goddess of love and battles, stranger." He gestured with his spear. "Your form
doesn't look suited to love, nor are you armed for battle."
"My form is what I wished it to be, Gilgamesh," Ishtar replied. "I can change it
to suit the needs of the moment."
"Then if I were you, Ishtar, I should alter it to be able to walk. Then you
could come to me. If you came as a woman, we might make love. If as a man, we
could fight. As you are, your form seems ill-suited to anything."
Another long sigh escaped from the creature. "You are wrong, Gilgamesh. My form
is suited to many things - not the least of which is descending from the heavens
to the earth."
"Indeed?" he said, and laughed loudly. "You are from the heavens, are you? And
if you can step down from the skies, how is it that you cannot step over here?
Ishtar, if you are a goddess, you seem to be one of lies and trickery, not
honest love or war."
"Foolish man!" Her voice trembled. "I did not walk down from the skies." She
gestured weakly at the ziggurat about her. "I came in this."
"Ah." He grinned. "Your house walked, then, not you. Still, it seems to have
been a hard journey down from the sky - as well it might be. I see that you've
lost a few bricks here and there. I would think that their loss would make it a
lighter task for what remains to walk about."
"You persist in your foolishness," Ishtar hissed. "But I can show you the truth
in what I say. I called you here from the plains of Eridu to commune with me."
Gilgamesh scratched at his oiled ringlets, and grinned once again. "I followed a
white hart here, Ishtar, not your voice."
"This white deer, O man?" she asked, pointing.
Gilgamesh gazed, then stiffened. His quarry stood, docile, on the slope of the
pit. It stared at him, unafraid. Quickly, the hunter raised his spear and threw.
It passed into the deer's pale body without breaking the skin, and then through
it, to bury itself in the earthen wall of the pit.
Slowly the deer faded away.
For the first time Gilgamesh felt his confidence begin to slip. This stank of
magic, not of honest guile or simple trickery. Perhaps this strange creature was
indeed telling the truth however odd that truth sounded to his ears.
"Come to me, Gilgamesh," Ishtar called. "Come, and you will not be
disappointed." As she spoke, her form shimmered, like the haze that rose from
the southern desert sands, and changed. Now the non-metal skin was flesh, and
she was like a woman - and yet like no woman that he had ever seen. Her skin was
light, her hair dark and loose, her arms open and inviting. "Come to me,
Gilgamesh, strong in war and love."
"Lady," he said, with a hint of respect in his voice, "it may be that I have
wronged you in thinking that you lied. But if you are indeed Ishtar, and a
goddess, then I dare not come to you."
"So," she said, and he winced at the mockery in her voice, "the mighty hero,
Gilgamesh, is afraid of the embrace of a woman."
"Not so," he argued. "Many woman have felt my embrace, and all have enjoyed
their time. But to be the paramour of a goddess is a risky thing at best. I have
heard how Ishtar serves those she loves. Her love consumes them, it is said, in
tongues of fire. She takes their strength in one embrace, leaving them dead, and
forgotten by all who knew them. No, Ishtar, it is not fear that makes me turn
you down, but wisdom. What a fool I should be to exchange my years for one
embrace from you."
"Gilgamesh, obey me and come to me!" The pleading, beguiling tone had vanished,
and in its place was only harsh determination. "I swear that if you do not, then
I shall seek you out and crush you."
"Ah, now we get to the truth of it," he said, his poise returning. "Nay, lady -
if you cannot move to get me while I stand before you in this pit, then you will
not be able to get me when I am feasting in my palace in Uruk. I thank you for
the strange hunt you've led me on, but no more. Fare you well, lady - and fare
well apart from me." With a final salute he turned and strode away.
"Fool!" Ishtar yelled after his retreating back. "You have turned me down,
Gilgamesh, but you will regret it. I shall indeed come to you soon enough - and
when I do, not one stone of Uruk will be left to tell the world where Gilgamesh
once was king!" Her strength failing, Ishtar fell back. No sense in wasting
energy cursing that sly, suspicious humanoid now. Ah, but he would pay - he
would pay dearly for this rejection! She checked her power reserves again.
Enough, if she carefully eked them out, for another six of this planet's days.
There would be another human along by then. And it was doubtful that he would be
as crafty as Gilgamesh. To conserve energy she disconnected her image reproducer
and allowed the disguise she wore to fade and slide into the familiar shape of
her once-powerful body.
She crept into the ruined escape pod and shuddered as she felt the mind of
Gilgamesh slipping from her senses. He would have been such a delightful feast.
Such life, such power, such pride. She hadn't tasted a vigorous soul in all the
months she had spent in space. Her power levels were low, and her need for a
mind to devour was all-encompassing.
One must come along soon! Then she would feed - then she would grow - and then
she would utterly destroy this miserable little world...
Still trying to make sense of his hilltop encounter, Gilgamesh almost ran into
the captain of his own patrol. His reflexes took over when he saw the figure of
a soldier, but he managed to restrain his spear-arm when he recognized the man.
"Lord," the captain said, falling to his knees. "Is something amiss?" "Nothing,"
he replied. "I have had... a vision. A vision of a most perplexing kind."
Abruptly, he grinned, and clapped the man on the shoulders, sending him
sprawling. "Still, let's not let that disturb us, eh? We've got a job to do.
It's time we were off again. Kish won't wait on us forever. Come on!" "Yes,
Lord," the captain said, brushing dust from his legs.
Gilgamesh was deep in thought for the rest of the journey, virtually ignoring
Enkidu's attempts to draw him out. He was torn between telling the story for the
praise it might bring him and keeping silent in case he was secretly ridiculed.
Had he won a victory over Ishtar? Or had he been the victim of a trick?
Naturally, his subjects would believe his story - he'd have them executed if
they showed the slightest scepticism - but did it really enhance his reputation?
Or could he change the tale, improve it? He wished he were a better inventor of
stories. If he had a court musician, he mused, he might be able to set the man
to work on this germ of an idea and have it developed into a real tale that men
would remember.
He made a mental note of two points: first, to keep the story to himself until
he could find a better ending for it; second, to hire himself a good court
composer.
Ta-Nin languidly examined her reflection in the polished mirror. It was a good
body, perhaps the finest in all Uruk. Gilgamesh had complimented her on it many
times, before and during their lovemaking. The body of a queen? she wondered.
Perhaps, when he returned, Gilgamesh would take her as his bride this time,
instead of merely his concubine... There would be plenty of hearts broken, she
knew, by such an action. Many of the women of Uruk hoped to move from
Gilgamesh's bed to his throne room.
She applied her oils carefully, choosing only the most fragrant. To lure a king,
one must be seen to resemble a queen... She dressed in her finest spun gown,
fastened at her shapely, bare neck by a golden brooch in the shape of a
leopard's head. Her servant girl completed the effect with her elaborate
coiffuring arts. Ta-Nin hung round her throat a simple. necklace of lapis
lazuli, and examined her reflection one final time.
She had to smile. Never had she looked more beautiful. This time, surely she
would win the king's heart, and share in his power. She half-turned, and admired
the curve of her bare back. How could he resist her? She looked exactly like a
queen.
A servant arrived with the message that the feast was beginning. Gilgamesh had
commanded her to attend. She exulted. Tonight she would triumph over her
snickering, manipulative rivals.
The feast-hall of the palace was becoming crowded as the guests arrived for the
banquet. All the talk was of the spying mission from which the king had just
returned. She noted several barely-disguised scowls, and knew that there were
many of the nobles who would have preferred it had their king been caught and
killed by the troops of King Agga of Kish. Petty jealousies, that was all.
Didn't every man in Uruk wish he had merely a portion of the powers of Gilgamesh
- either in feats of war, or of love? Ta-Nin looked about, but Gilgamesh had not
yet made his entrance. He enjoyed making a show of it, drinking in the applause
and adoration that he knew were his due. But now Ta-Nin did not know where she
should sit. To go straight to the head table and claim her place by the king's
side might seem presumptuous. But to take another seat would be beneath her
dignity...
The main doors were thrown open, and Gilgamesh entered with a wide grin on his
face. All of his guests jumped to their feet, pounding on the tables and yelling
his name. The king waved for the applause to die down. Naturally, it did not:
no-one there was stupid enough to believe that he meant this gesture for a
moment. Finally, he roared for silence, and instantly the room fell quiet.
Gilgamesh made his way to the head table and dropped onto the cushions beside
it. At this signal, the others could also take their places. Ta-Nin remained
standing with her gaze demurely lowered, waiting for Gilgamesh to see her and
call her to join him. After what seemed an eternity she heard him call her name,
and looked up. She froze.
There was another woman with him. Her mind seemed paralyzed as she saw the king fondling
this other creature. Why, it was the daughter of that inept Gudea,
wasn't it? That little slut, barely thirteen, barely marriable. And here she
was, pretending to be a grown woman, putting herself on public display to have
her body pawed by that egotistic lecher. The girl giggled as Gilgamesh slipped a
hand down her front and tweaked.
Crimson, Ta-Nin glared at them both. "Ta-Nin," Gilgamesh repeated, a little
louder this time, "don't you think you'd better sit down?" He gestured to the
second table. "Your husband is over there." He smiled, and gave her a friendly
wave with his free hand.
Burning with anger and hurt, she remembered to bow - not as much as she was
supposed to, but Gilgamesh overlooked this, as he was trying to lap up the wine
he had deliberately spilled onto the girl's breasts. Overcome by the
humiliation, Ta-Nin scurried across the hall to join her spouse, who was trying
to look as if he hadn't noticed his wife's embarrassment.
She ignored him and turned her furious eyes on Gilgamesh. She had been publicly
humiliated. Those harpies of the town knew she had been sharing his bed. She had
ordered new robes for her regal status. How their tongues would wag at this.
Thrown over, for this... this stupid little whore! How could Gilgamesh do this
to her? Oblivious to the jealousies of his noblemen and their wives, the king
finished lapping up his drink and lay back on his pillows. The girl - he wished
he could remember her name, he could never remember their names - giggled again,
and wiggled most pleasingly. Now, this was what a woman was for. He grabbed a
摘要：

TIMEWYRM:GENESYSbyJohnPeel.Contents:PREFACEbyPeterDarvill-Evans,introducingtheNewAdventuresseries.FOREWORDbySophieAldred.PROLOGUE.1:SERPENTINTHEGARDEN2:MEMORIESAREMADEOF.3:WHENYOUWISHUPONISHTAR4:PASTLIVES5:AMBUSH6:SPYINGTONIGHT7:TALKINGUNION8:BANDONTHERUN9:NITRONINE,GODDESSNIL10:ACEINTHEHOLE11:PARTY...

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