The Third Encounter
PART III
by John Seavey
Many people use chess as an analogy for life. They claim that the universe is nothing more than a cosmic chessboard, with each individual a piece moved in intricate, unknowable patterns by an unseen hand, in pursuit of an ultimately unknowable goal.
This analogy does overlook one thing, however. In chess, unlike life, your enemy must wait for you to make a move before allowing his plans to unfold further.
The familiar wheezing, groaning noise was strained almost beyond recognizability. It skipped and stuttered, as though being played on a particularly dusty record player; it stopped altogether on more than one occasion. But eventually, the TARDIS materialized.
It looked much the worse for wear. Scorch marks had obliterated the familiar 'POLICE CALL BOX', as well as marring most of the woodwork and the frosted glass windows. Most ominously, there was a great hole in the box, through which strange lights twinkled in an eye-disturbing way.
The TARDIS was hurt, and hurt badly. It was in no state to recognize his surroundings, and there was no occupant to come out and see them. But had the Doctor been there, he would have recognized them instantly.
She rolled over weakly, trying to get away from the thing that haunted her dreams. Despite her differences from these humans, she still needed to sleep--and sleep could sometimes be a gateway of power, she knew. Especially to those who possessed the Seal.
The voice came from behind her as she ran, low and silky. "Why run?" it said. "All your life you have served me. Everything you have done has been to further my cause."
"No!" she shrieked. "I stole the Seal of my own will! Everything I did, I did on my own!"
"But why?" persisted the voice. "What inspired you to search the ancient texts, to discover the Seal's true power?"
"Coincidence!" she yelled as she ran. "Luck! Chance!"
"Me," said the voice as she finally stumbled and fell. She struggled to rise, but he was already on her, and in her, and she was losing herself...a few final whimpers escaped her, and then she was gone.
In the real world, her eyes snapped open, and they were solid black.
Meanwhile, in London, 1963...Dorothée flipped on the TV briefly, only to see that it was some lame science-fiction program. She turned it right back off again and reached for a book. Suddenly, a knock came at the door.
"Ace," sounded the distinctive Scottish burr of the Doctor, "let me in. It's urgent."
She flew in the form of a raven to the ancient house, diving through the window to alight on the altar they had built to her. With but a thought, she transformed into what she normally thought of as her 'goddess' form. Right now, though, she wasn't thinking anything.
Her worshippers were on their knees, bowing and chanting. Their leader, a pudgy, balding man in white robes, said, "Oh, great and mighty--"
"Silence!" she hissed. "Look at me," she said in a slightly calmer tone. He looked up hesitantly. "That's right," she whispered, "look at me. Look at my eyes."
After a moment, they arose. All of them had solid black eyes as well.
"You know what we must do," she said. "Our time is limited. We must make the sacrifice at the time of the conjunction. Prepare the stones." She smiled. It was not pleasant to look at. "When the time comes, we shall be a vessel through which greater power flows."