"Not his." Gudea sighed. "I wish I had half his prowess."

"If you did, you'd be ten times the man you are," the other snapped back.

"Or maybe twenty. As it is Gilgamesh is already doing his best to replace you in your bed."

"He raped my wife," Gudea retorted, almost aggressively for him. "Several times."

"Of course he did," Ennatum laughed, cruelly. "And that pretty daughter of yours, too, of course. But that's not what they called it." Gudea had to be the only person in the city not to know of his wife's infatuation with the king.

And there were even stories about the daughter joining the two of them.

Only someone as gullible and self-deceiving as Gudea would think that pair of harpies could be innocent.

Hotly, Gudea explained: "You can't accuse the king of rapine, like any normal man. Of course they claim they were willing; it's more than their lives or mine is worth to say otherwise. But I abhor Gilgamesh's libertine manners. That's why I agreed to help you in this plan to get him killed. To save my family from further degradation at his hands."

"Or other parts of his anatomy, eh?" Ennatum said crudely. "Stay!" He held up his hand. "A poor jest, I agree. But I trust you didn't tell you wife what we have planned for Gilgamesh? She might have - ah - accidentally pa.s.sed on the information the last time she was - a.s.saulted."

"I've told no one," Gudea said glumly, finishing the beer and pouring himself another. "But I do wish we could be certain that Gilgamesh will die this time."

Sighing, Ennatum rose from the chair, and strode over to Gudea. He placed an arm about Gudea's shoulder and smiled. "Well, if it will set your mind at ease, my friend," he purred, "I will let you in on the secret. This time we can be sure Gilgamesh will die. You see, to make absolutely certain that he's caught, I took the liberty of sending a man to Dumuzi, the high priest of Ishtar in Kish. By now, the Kis.h.i.tes know of Gilgamesh's every intent. This time, Gudea, he will die."

The double doors at the end of the meeting room were flung open. Two spear-wielding guards entered, heralding the arrival of the other n.o.bles of Uruk. Ennatum tapped his companion's shoulder. "Carefully," he hissed.

"We'll keep that little tidbit of information from the High Council, shall we?"

Nervously, Gudea nodded, and pattered off to his seat at the conference table. Shaking his head, Ennatum followed. Gudea was the one weak link in all of this plotting, but a necessary one - for now.

The temple of Ishtar in the city of Kish was not the largest of the young metropolis's temples. That honour belonged to the ziggurat of Zababa, patron G.o.d of the city. But Ishtar's temple was by far the busiest of them all.

The smoke of sacrifice rose constantly from the several altars within. Once, Dumuzi had taken great pleasure in the smell of the burning wood and the scorching entrails. Now, however, he took pleasure in very little. Many who had known the high priest believed that he had changed - for the worse over recent months. Ever since the enthronement of the G.o.ddess Ishtar in her temple, in fact.

Dumuzi himself thought little of this. Dumuzi thought little of anything. The brilliant mind of the priest was now almost permanently clouded by the Touch of Ishtar.

He tried to concentrate on the message that this stupid little man had brought him, but he couldn't quite focus his mind. These days it was getting harder and harder for him to gather his scattered wits. He winced and frowned with the effort.

Stop struggling, Dumuzi! The voice of Ishtar echoed in his mind, bringing lancing pain. You exist only to fulfill my desires, to think my thoughts, and to do my bidding. Do not try to have a life apart from me.

With Dumuzi's rebellion subdued Ishtar's mind focused through the eyes of her priest and ransacked his memories for what she needed. Ah yes. The groveling worm at his feet was a messenger, claiming to be an emissary of the lord Ennatum of the neighbouring pathetic little native village of Uruk.

Ishtar's will played with Dumuzi's vocal chords.

"Tell me again, O man, the message you bear to me."

"Mighty Dumuzi, High Priest of Ishtar," the servant said again, prostrating himself once more, "I am to tell you that the King of Uruk, Gilgamesh the Mighty, is even now on his way to spy on the inhabitants of Kish. He is planning to lead a war on Kish, and seeks such information as will best help him in this plan. He will approach your city from the south towards evening, and can be captured or killed with ease. There are with him only five men and his fighting companion Enkidu."

"So you say," Ishtar replied with Dumuzi's voice. "But why do you come to me with this tale? Are you not sworn to obey your king?" "I am the bondsman of Ennatum, Lord," the man said, nervously. All priests were mysterious and imposing, but there was something even more unsettling about this one. "It is at his bidding that I bring this message."

"I see." Puzzled, Ishtar allowed Dumuzi to regain some control of his mind.

Why should this Lord Ennatum wish to see his king captured or killed? she demanded of her priest.

"Gilgamesh is a mighty warrior, my lady," Dumuzi said aloud - though there was no need for words: Ishtar could read his thoughts as easily as he could scan the clay tablets of the temple records. The indentations of the cuneiform-writing stylus were like chicken scratchings to most people, and Dumuzi prided himself on his ability to both read and write. It was not a common feat, but Ishtar had dismissed his achievement with contempt.

She took what she wanted directly from his mind, without need for either talk or writing. "But he is arrogant, too," Dumuzi continued, "and has an almost insatiable appet.i.te for the young women of Uruk. The n.o.bles of that city would dearly love him dead - but none of them dare confront him in person."

Ishtar's delighted peals of laughter rang through Dumuzi's mind. You humans are such foolish creatures, priest! 1 am tempted to allow Gilgamesh to come and go unmolested - just to terrify these pusillanimous plotters. But 1, too, have a score to settle with Gilgamesh the mighty warrior."

"You, lady?" She could read the amazement in the priest's mind. Yes, Dumuzi. The memory still rankled within her, burning in her soul.

Gilgamesh once rejected me. I offered him the peace and power that 1 later offered you, yet he spurned my embrace. But you O loyal one, did not.

My Touch has brought freedom and peace to your mind, has it not? He could not deny it: she did not allow him the will to contradict her. That would have been wasteful. Encompa.s.sing further portions of his mind, she used his eyes to star down at the trembling messenger.

"Can we trust this man?" she wondered aloud. "Perhaps he is sent not to inform us, but to trick us?" "No, Lord, I swear it," the peasant insisted. "I tell you the truth."

"You have no need to a.s.sure me, O man," Dumuzi told him. He stumbled over the words as he felt Ishtar's grip loosen inside his head. "Follow me - you will swear to Ishtar herself that you bring only the truth."

Eagerly, the man scrambled to his feet. Dumuzi turned, and led the way out of his priestly quarters and into the temple. The servant expected that he would be required to take an oath at the main altar. Dumuzi could feel Ishtar's pleasure as she allowed him the luxury of that naivety for the moment, her antic.i.p.ation that it would make the end result so much more rewarding.

The temple was an impressive building even in the grand city of Kish. This, the main portion of the construction, was two hundred and fifty feet long and fifty wide. The roof was almost twenty feet above their heads. Stone pillars held up the ceiling, and triangular windows cut into the walls allowed in light. The walls had been covered with mud brick into which small cones of clay had been pressed. The end of each cone was painted, either in black, or white, or red, and the walls bore zigzag patterns of markings on them.

Worshippers of Ishtar moved throughout the building. Some brought sacrifices, others coins to buy time with the sacred harlots that waited in the numerous chambers at the sides of the great hall. The temple was never a quiet place, but a reverent silence seemed to gather in the air as Dumuzi led the spy after him.

At the far end of the temple was the altar. Teams of priests worked here, some taking the animals offered for sacrifice and slaughtering them, others accepting the grain offerings and sending them to the granaries to be stored for the winter months. The slaughtered beasts would be separated: the livers were used for divination, the entrails for the sacrificial flames, and the meat would be roasted and stored for the meals of the temple staff.

Beyond the main altar was the area private to Ishtar. Dumuzi held aside the curtaining, and the messenger nervously pa.s.sed through. The room beyond was hidden in darkness, and it was obvious that the man was afraid of a knife in the back as a reward for betraying his king.

"Move on, O man," Dumuzi's voice laughed. "Come and feel the Touch of Ishtar herself. She will know if you speak the truth to me."

The messenger moved slowly forward, hesitating until his eyes could become accustomed to the lack of light.

His caution was futile: within the room were two of the handmaidens of Ishtar. Blank-eyed, they gripped the man's arms with a ferocious strength that owed little to their humanity. The man cried aloud, and tried to wriggle free. Their hands cut into his flesh, holding him on his knees by the doorway.

"My Lord!" he screamed, trying to twist his head about to see Dumuzi. "I swear, I tell you the truth!" "Do not swear to him, O man," Ishtar said in her own voice from the black depths of the room. "He does not care whether you speak the truth or a lie. But I care. Feel my Touch, and know my peace."

She moved into the half-light. The messenger gazed, openmouthed and silent. He knew he was in the presence of a true G.o.ddess. Never had he seen such perfection: such a graceful form, taller than a man; such skin, so pale that it seemed to shine; such a beautiful face, surrounded by floating hair.

The man screamed again as she began to change. He writhed madly in the iron grip of the unmoving priestesses. Ishtar's eyes, burning red, descended towards him. She held out her arms in a mocking embrace, and enfolded him. His scream was choked off as her metal palms touched the sides of his temples. A soft whirr followed, and he went limp.

She withdrew her hands, smiling as she saw the reddened area on his left temple where she had inserted her link. The two handmaidens released him, and he remained on his knees, swaying eyes closed.

Ishtar loosened her thoughts, sending them through the link into the man's mind. It was pitifully small and tasteless, like those of so many of these humans. She noted almost casually that he had been telling Dumuzi the truth: Gilgamesh was indeed on his way here on a spying mission. What a fool! She would see to it that he would not be lonely... But he must not die - yet. She wanted vengeance, she wanted to taste his fear, before she allowed him the luxury of death.

What to do with this peasant, meanwhile? His mind wasn't worth feeding on, nor would he make a good slave. He lacked talent, and she had no inclination to have him trained. She didn't need another mind just yet... With a mental sigh, she allowed the man the only release he would ever know.

She didn't even hear the rattle of death as he collapsed backwards, grotesquely huddled on the floor. The handmaidens would clean it away.

One of the priests that she controlled seemed disturbed. Using his eyes, she saw the reason why: Agga was in the temple and striding towards her quarters.

The King of Kish? Interesting. He didn't much care for Dumuzi, she knew - as she knew all that Dumuzi knew. Agga was a devotee mainly of the city-G.o.d, Zababa - but he was not foolish enough to ignore the visit of a living G.o.ddess, and he had met her several times. Each time she had sensed his distrust, and it had amused her, knowing that he could do nothing to fight against her. She had been tempted to add him to her collection - his felt like a mind well worth a taste: a sharp brain, a keen insight, a commanding personality. But she still lacked the strength she needed to run every alleyway in this pitiful dung-heap of a city. While she was still acc.u.mulating power it was best to allow Agga a certain measure of freedom. Her puppets were very talented, but they lacked the fire and creativity that independence normally gave them. She shivered with delight as she felt her shape change again.

Agga pushed aside the curtain and waited. His body was strong and muscular, with a slight inclination towards fat. His beard was full and curled, strong with the scent of the oils used. His clothing was restrained, but the robe was clearly expensive. About his neck he wore the cylindrical seal that ratified the orders of the king. His only other jewellery was a golden chain inlaid with amber that hung across his chest.

His eyes, growing used to the lower levels of light that Ishtar preferred, took in the dead body on the floor. His powerful body went rigid with controlled anger as he glared at Ishtar's insolently-turned back.

"Another human sacrifice?" he growled. "It seems to me that your arrival in our city, Ishtar, has not heralded the benevolent reign of the G.o.ds, but the predations of Nergal, father of death and pestilence."

"Have a care with that tongue of yours, Agga," she murmured. She turned, and Agga could not restrain the sharp intake of breath that betrayed his inevitable response to her beauty. "I bear a lot of abuse from you," she said, smiling, "because it suits me to allow you to be the king of this wretched city - for now. But if you provoke me enough, perhaps even you shall feel the Touch of Ishtar." She held up her right hand, and he thought he saw something metallic flash in her palm. "Or, perhaps," she mused, "that pretty little daughter of yours - Ninani? She'd make a delightful addition to my retinue, don't you think?" "If you try to Touch my daughter, Ishtar," Agga growled, "then I shall certainly see to it that this temple of yours is destroyed while you and your priests are inside it. It might be interesting to see if a mere man can destroy a G.o.ddess."

"Such a futile temper," she mocked gently. "However, as long as you do my bidding, I hardly care what you may think, O king. But for now that precious child of yours shall be free. Meanwhile, would you be good enough to despatch a few of your best troops to that well at the south of the town? I have it on -" she smiled down at the corpse on the floor "- good authority that Gilgamesh will be there towards evening. Instruct your men to take him alive. Warn them that if he is killed, they will pay for it. And if he escapes, they will answer to me."

"Gilgamesh?" The news surprised Agga. The king of Uruk had long coveted the lands of Kish, he knew, but he thought that even the hot-headed Gilgamesh had more sense than to try to slip into this city.

"Capturing him alive will not be simple."

"Nevertheless, I want it done!" For the first time anger crept into her voice.

"He has a debt to pay me, Agga, one that I shall take great pleasure in extracting from him inch by excruciating inch... Perhaps I shall let you watch, to see what happens to those who incur my wrath. It might be - educational." Then, burying her l.u.s.t for the blood of the man who had rejected her, she returned to matters in hand. "But why did you come here?

Aside from another of your complaints about the - litter I cause?" Agga wrenched his attention from the litter on the floor. "We need more copper if we are to continue the lining of the walls with those new patterns that you have laid out."

"So," she said agreeably, turning away to indicate that the audience was over. "Well, Dumuzi will see that the temple vaults are opened for your artisans. The artistic nature of my work demands a good deal of copper."

Agga nodded. "Ishtar," he said, softly, "I do not believe you have a single ounce of love within you for any kind of art. The patterns you designed, and that my men are making on the walls, are for some other purpose, are they not?" Smiling, Ishtar turned back to face him. Not for the first time, the sheer perfection of her beauty seemed to him suddenly hard, almost grotesque. Hers was a face shaped by a divine craftsman out of living metal. Even her hair was reproduced in silvery strands. But the beauty could not at these moments entirely disguise the cruelty in her heart.

"Perceptive," she murmured. "Yes, indeed, there is much more to my plan than an appreciation of art, O king."

"What?" "That you will discover when I choose to tell you. Until then, simply ensure that my wishes are translated into stone and metal." She again turned her back on him. "Now go. I have much thinking to do." She could almost feel the mind of Gilgamesh writhing in her taste buds as she stripped it apart, layer by lingering layer...

Agga turned also, but paused, watching the G.o.ddess glide back into her lair at the heart of the temple he had once loved to enter. Now its darkness was more than physical. His city had indeed fallen on terrible times since the arrival of Ishtar. But what could he do to stave off the desires of a divinity? With her powers, she could raze the city on a whim. No, for now he must placate her and conceal his true thoughts. But one day...

4: PAST LIVES.

She stared in increasing bewilderment at the two men in front of her. So far, she had discovered exactly two things about her surroundings. First, she was in something called a TARDIS, whatever one of those might be.

Second, the man she had met was called Doctor.

No, both men she'd met were called Doctor.

"I don't get it," she said. "How can he be you? You don't even look alike."

"How many times do I have to explain?" the first of the Doctors asked. "Oh yes, I forgot - you've forgotten everything, haven't you?" Shrugging, he ignored her and stared at the other man. "I'm not a human being," he said off-handedly, over his shoulder. "I'm a Time Lord. We're not limited to the tiny portion of time that your lives span. When we age and tire, we change, we regenerate. And I used to look like that -" he indicated the other man "-quite some time ago."

The other man was standing perfectly still, the smile frozen on his cheerful face. She inched forwards, examining him. "He's not much of a talker, is he?" "I've got him on pause," the Doctor told her. "Strictly speaking, he's not really here. It's a recording of some kind that I seem to have triggered."

She tried to reach out and touch the eccentric figure. Her hand pa.s.sed straight through it. With a jerk, she pulled back. "You mean, like a tape recording?" "Something like that" the Doctor said airily. "But infinitely more sophisticated. It's a temporal projection, programmed into the TARDIS's telepathic circuits. And designed to manifest itself right now, for some peculiar reason."

"Programmed?" she repeated. "By who?" "By whom," he corrected her, absently. "By me, of course. I wonder why I did it?" "Don't you know?" "Of course I don't know. If I knew, I wouldn't have to do this to jog my memory.

It must be very important. I just wish I knew why."

"Why not ask him?" she said, gesturing towards the frozen figure.

"Presumably he'll be able to tell you."

"You're always so impatient, Ace," he chided. He hated to be rushed into anything.

"Ace?" she asked, eagerly. "Is that my name?" "Yes."

She mulled it over, while he stared at the person he'd once been. "Funny sort of name," she decided, finally.

"It's not your given one," he added. "But you preferred Ace to Dorothy."

"I did?" When he nodded, she shook her head. "I wish I knew why."

"I'll see about getting your memory back in a minute." He gestured at the frozen projection of the former Doctor. "Right now, I'm more concerned about him."

"Thanks a lot," Ace muttered, gloomily.

"Your time will come," he told her, cryptically. Then he keyed in a sequence on the central console. The other Doctor came back to life again.

"I haven't got much time," he said. "I've been in the Matrix - but I'm sure you'll remember all about that. What's vanishing fast is a piece of information that I picked up there. Beware the Timewyrm."

"What's a Timewyrm?" Ace asked.

"It's no good asking him," the Doctor told her. "He's just a trans-temporal projection. He can't see or hear us." Before she could say anything, he added: "And it's no good asking me, because I haven't the foggiest notion what I'm warning myself about."

"Timewyrm," the recording repeated. "At the core of the Matrix. Oldest input, from Ancient Gallifrey. A sort of future myth, end of the Universe, very apocalyptic. You'll have to do something about, I'm afraid. A unique creature noted for its ability to... to..." The figure faltered, and looked uncertainly at the console. "Why am I talking to myself? Leela? Leela?

Where is that girl... Oh. Yes." His insubstantial finger reached out to a control, and vanished.

"Well," Ace said, after a moment. "What was all that about?" "I've no idea,"

replied the Doctor, a worried frown creasing his features.

"But it sounded important," she insisted.

"It was," he agreed. "Vitally. But it still doesn't make any sense to me. I've never heard of a Timewyrm." Shaking his head, he started to play with the controls. A small screen lit up, with information scrolling across it. "And neither has the TARDIS," he announced, finally.

"But he knew about it," she objected. "Surely you know what he knows, if he's how you used to be?" "It's not that simple," the Doctor snapped. "Life never is. Look, he - I -was once linked to the Matrix back on Gallifrey. And before you ask, Gallifrey is the world I come from, where the vast majority of the Time Lords live. And the Matrix is a sort of data storage bank for almost every piece of information that has existed or will exist. It scans the reaches of time and s.p.a.ce, and acc.u.mulates a vast amount of knowledge.

Most of it's completely trivial and worthless, of course, but sometimes bits of it are very useful. And I must have come across a bit of it back then, and needed to warn me now about it."