Ivory Maiden 6
Title: The Ivory Maiden
Part: 6/7
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3351
Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Thanks yet again to my fantastic beta vampydirector, as well as to vigor_di_vita for giving me additional help on a difficult scene.
Oliver was only dimly aware of the Doctor’s exhortation. He couldn’t take his eyes off the statue--especially its face. It was beautiful. The face was that of a woman’s, with a neatly curved nose, high cheekbones, and an elegant expression. Even more alluring than those features, however, were her eyes. Her eyes seemed to bore right into him. They were full of life in a way that a statue shouldn’t be, as if it were a real woman looking at him. No, he realized--she was a real woman; he could feel her eyes on him and hear her calling to him, asking him to stay with her.
He started to agree--to tell her that she was amazing and of course he’d be glad to stay. But a thought came to him then, though it was dim and distant at first. It whispered that staying was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be here with her; there was something else waiting for him. And someone was yelling at him--wanting his attention. Someone important. He had to...he had to what? He had to save...
No. He could hear the statue, speaking calmly and firmly in his mind, and her words felt so...right. He didn’t need to do anything. If he just stayed with her, then everything would be fine.
But it wasn’t fine. He wiggled his nose. Something smelled odd, and it was distracting. Distracting like that other voice, demanding his attention, reminding him...about...
Images flashed into his mind then--memories tied to the words he was distantly hearing. Memories about this world. He was a visitor here, wasn’t he? Of course he was. He was a traveler. But why was that-
Wait.
He realized then that the statue was still speaking to him. Her thoughts had been soft in his mind, flowing so easily that they were mixing with his own, but now she was confused. Her question had become so insistent that he could hear it clearly, interrupting him. She wanted to know what traveler meant.
He wondered why she was asking that, but he ignored the niggling doubts in his mind for the moment--as well as the strange, distracting smell. He wanted to please her, so he focused on explaining what she wanted to know instead. He told her that traveler meant he went from place to place--and time to time.
He could feel her surprise at that, though he didn’t understand it. He really did travel from time to time, he explained, and yeah, that was unusual for his people. Didn’t she know? Where he was from, it was unusual enough for people to go from world to world. But traveling through time--he only got to do that because of the Doctor.
The Doctor! A realization hit Oliver at that thought, followed by more images flashing through his mind--a man in a coat and extremely long, multi-colored scarf, with curly hair and big teeth. A friend. Someone very important. He was the voice, calling to him now. Oliver ignored the statue’s protests, struggling to hear that voice. The Doctor was telling him that he could help. That he could do something...where the Doctor couldn’t? No, that wasn’t possible. The Doctor could help anyone with anything. It was what he did.
A sudden change in the statue’s tone brought his attention back to her. She was asking now, with a hint of desperation--of need--if he really meant anyone. Even her?
Oliver didn’t even have to consider his response. Of course! What did she need?
Because his desire to help her matched her desire for help, the voice began to flow with his thoughts again, her questions and his answers merging together. Company? Just that? What about going home? Didn't she want that?
He could feel the emotion in her response--the sadness and the resignation--as though he were experiencing it himself. Quickly, he tried to counter it. No, it couldn’t be impossible. Nothing ever was. She only needed to ask the Doctor. He’d know a way.
But that offer didn’t make the statue feel any better. He asked her why, desperate to help her--to make her happy. But her response confused him. She couldn’t talk to the Doctor? Why not? Oliver’s thoughts were perplexed by her reply. Not even she knew why she couldn’t reach him.
But it only took a moment for the answer to occur to him: it had to be because the Doctor was a Time Lord. The Doctor had even mentioned something about that making him immune to the statue. At the statue’s next question, Oliver admitted that he didn’t really know what being a Time Lord meant, but he was sure it was the reason. And he quickly added that this didn’t have to stop the Doctor from helping her. Really, it wasn’t a problem at all. All it meant was that he’d have to ask the Doctor for her.
Her response was even more intense this time, holding a vehemence borne from fright. She would have to let Oliver go for him to speak to the Doctor, and she couldn’t do that.
Feeling her fear, he protested, assuring her that she didn’t have to be afraid of letting him go. He wouldn’t leave. He promised he wouldn’t. He could sense her skepticism, so he insisted. Really, he wouldn’t. There was no trick to it; he just wanted to help.
How did she know he wasn’t lying? He was surprised by that question. Well, she’d have to trust him. And what would he gain by leaving anyway?
She continued her protests, but he wouldn’t give up either. After all, he was the only one who could talk to her--really talk to her--so of course he wouldn’t just leave her forever. And maybe there was a way for her to talk through him?
But the statue’s thoughts had paused at his previous answer. She didn’t know what he meant. What about the others? The room was full of people that she was talking to.
He frowned at that, not understanding her either. She wasn’t talking to the others. How could she think she was? She was just leading them--guiding how they acted. Couldn’t she see how she changed them? They weren’t thinking; they weren’t talking like he and the statue were. They were just blindly following her wishes.
Oliver’s mind was troubled by her response--at the genuine confusion expressed through her thoughts. She didn’t think she was doing anything to them. But how could she not know? He could easily see exactly what she was doing.
The smell began to distract him again, bringing more images--more memories--into his thoughts. He’d seen people being used before, and he knew it wasn’t right. He wanted to make the statue happy, yes, but he could see now that what she was doing was wrong. And knowing that, he couldn’t let her continue.
The statue’s protest was immediate and painful in its emotional intensity. If she didn’t talk to the people here, she would be alone, and Oliver could feel every bit of her horror at that thought. He understood it, right down to his core--perhaps better than most people would understand it. He knew what it meant to be lonely. And he didn’t want her to be alone--he wouldn’t wish that on anyone--but he couldn’t let her control these men either. There had to be a better way for her to have company. And he would find it! She just needed to let go of him. Just a bit, so he could talk to the Doctor, and then he’d come back and talk to her. Wouldn’t she let him try?
Despite a lingering sense of uncertainty from the statue, the room finally came back into focus around him. Relieved, Oliver tried to turn his head away from the statue, but he couldn’t at first. He frowned, concentrating, and with a great force of will, he managed to turn to the Doctor. He found the man still yelling at him.
“Doctor,” he interrupted. He was surprised to notice that his voice sounded shaky and felt a little...distant. Detached. There was something else in the foreground of his mind--a pressure. A presence.
“Oliver!” The Doctor broke off what he had been saying, giving him a wide grin. “Have you been talking with our friend on the pedestal?”
“Yeah,” Oliver replied, fighting to focus on the man. His voice was coming out all wrong--flatter than it should be--but it seemed impossible to speak any other way, as though the presence in his mind were holding some part of him back. “She wants company. And she wishes she could go home.”
“Does she?” the Doctor asked curiously. “That’s understandable. And where does she consider home? Her planet of origin, perhaps?”
Before he could answer, Oliver became aware of another person in the room outside his mind--a woman. She was speaking, loudly and harshly, demanding his attention. Why was she being so emotional? The presence in his mind didn’t understand. He asked the statue to be quiet so he could listen to what the woman had to say, hoping to be able to explain.
“The Maiden has a new home!” the woman cried. “She lives here now. She’s happy here!”
As he looked at the woman, taking in her normal human stature, her dark hair, and her white clothing, he realized that he knew her. She was the lady Pafos, who he had learned was conniving and cruel. She was lying.
But the statue knew the lady as well, and she started to ask him to explain those thoughts. However, the woman continued speaking, her loud words blotting out their thoughts for the moment.
“She can have all the company she wants here!” Pafos continued. “And what can you give her? A long trip in darkness and loneliness.” She spat the words at the Doctor, her gaze fiery, before turning to the statue. Her eyes immediately filled with pleas. “Don’t listen to him, Maiden! Don’t let their tricks mislead you! Think of all I’ve done for you.”
Oliver had only just started to open his mouth to respond when the Doctor interrupted. His words weren’t half so emotional nor dramatic as Pafos’, but Oliver wanted to listen to him, and so the statue listened as well.
The Doctor was scoffing at Pafos’ claims. “Oliver isn’t in the business of misleading anyone,” he broke in, looking at the woman as though he were surprised by her outburst--surprise that Oliver, and therefore the Maiden, knew to be exaggerated. “And even if he were, he couldn’t. Not right now. Now when his mind is connected to the Lapidi’s. Unlike your mind, Pafos.” His look of surprise disappeared as quickly as it had come, his gaze taking on the glint of an edge. “Your mind that she can touch but not connect to--your female mind that protects you.”
Pafos gasped at those words, her eyes widening in rage. She glared at the Doctor, pointing a finger at Oliver accusingly. “We can talk just as he can! I haven’t lied to the Maiden!”
“But she doesn’t understand men,” Oliver spoke up, unable to help himself, as confused as he was by her declaration. Or was it only the presence inside him that was confused? It was hard to tell, the way their thoughts were mixing. “She doesn't know they think like women do. She believes they’re always flat, just staring and walking and not really living. Why did you make her think that?”
The woman’s gaze snapped to Oliver’s in alarm. “I did no such thing!" she cried, aghast.
Why does she keep yelling?
Oliver had opened his mouth to respond to Pafos, but he stopped at that interruption, going slightly rigid as he found himself getting lost in his mind again. He protested, but the statue had questions, and she wanted his full attention to be on answering them. So he gave up and instead tried to explain that yelling was something people did when they were angry or afraid. Oliver thought Pafos was afraid, but the statue didn’t understand why she would be. And was he really sure that she had been lying?
Oliver considered that question, his eyes watching the lady with a somewhat detached curiosity now that his mind could no longer focus on her properly. Maybe she wasn’t lying, he admitted, but she certainly seemed to be.
But before he could explain why he thought so, an idea occurred to him that put him off that train of thought. He couldn’t resist first asking the statue why she hadn’t thought Pafos might be lying before now. Why had she just listened to her and done as she’d asked?
We could never have imagined such an action.
Oliver couldn’t help the flood of surprise that flowed through his thoughts at her answer, even though he could see that every word the statue was speaking was the truth. He could feel it. Lapidi didn’t lie. In fact, he knew now--from the statue’s thoughts--that they didn’t even have a concept for lying. It didn’t exist on their world!
But that left him even more confused than before. Hoping to make him understand so Oliver would tell her more about Pafos, the statue explained that she only knew about lying because he did; she was learning about it through their connection. It was something humans did--she understood that now. So she asked again, how did he know that Pafos was lying?
Oliver struggled for a way to express how he knew. She was defensive, for one. And she had definitely kept information about how men lived from the statue. She had wanted to hide what she was really doing, not only from the men, but from the statue herself. And hiding information like that was lying already. If she’d lied about that, she was likely lying about other things, too. She probably needed to in order to protect whatever it was she was really trying to do.
The statue was distressed by those thoughts and, he could feel--to his dismay--reluctant to believe him. After all, Pafos had never tried to explain men to her, only encouraged her to meet them. And how could she know that Oliver wasn’t lying now? After all, he was human, and humans lied. So how could she trust his thoughts about Pafos’ reaction?
Oliver tried to reassure her. He didn’t like to lie--hadn’t she heard the Doctor say that? And she could see anything she wanted about Oliver, couldn’t she? She just had to look, and she’d know he wasn’t lying. And as far as Pafos was concerned, the more he thought about it, the more sure he was. He might not be able to explain it--not enough for the statue to be certain--but she could tell there was more going on with the men than what Pafos had told her, couldn’t she? And if she just allowed him to talk to Pafos a bit more, he promised everything would become clear. Really. He would make sure of it.
With that said, he gave another pull with his mind. The statue understood, and to his relief, she let him bring himself blearily back into reality. He found Pafos staring at him with a defiant look on her face, her lip curled.
“No. You lied,” Oliver said before she could protest again. This time, his voice was filled with flatness that was due to his growing certainty. “That’s why you chose this world, isn’t it?” he added. Now that he wasn’t experiencing the statue’s constant questioning, he could think more clearly. The facts were falling into place even as he said the words. “This world is a place where men and women live separately. A place where power over the men could convince the women to give you power. That’s all you really want, isn’t it? Power.” Oliver stopped, and his blank expression shifted just slightly, his eyes coming to life. He wasn’t sure if the sudden rush of pity was his or the statue’s or both, but he felt it all the same. “That’s sad,” he said softly.
At that, the lady Pafos’ defiant expression shifted until it seemed almost alive with fury. Her eyes were burning, her face flushed and her beautiful features contorted with rage. “You are twisting everything!” she fairly screeched.
“Then explain it,” Oliver pressed. “Why are you making these people prisoners?”
“I. Am. Not,” Pafos spat. “I am keeping them safe and keeping order in a society that didn’t have any. You didn’t see what it was like before I came! The men treated the women like their slaves--forced to come once a year and do whatever they were asked. The men had all the luxury, all the power, all the control. This was a broken world before I came. Look at it now! See what it’s like now!”
“We can see,” the Doctor spoke up. His voice was somehow both soft and booming at the same time, and his grim words filled the open room. “Now, the town is dead.”
Pafos’ eyes bulged. “Dead?” she scoffed. “It’s not dead. Look at all these people!” She swept a hand out toward the nearby men, every one of which was blankly watching the statue as events unfolded before them. “Do they look dead?” she pressed. “They sleep, they eat, they talk. The only thing they lack is unhappiness--and control over the women! You’re with the authorities, aren’t you, Doctor? You of all people should want exactly what I do. You should want what I’m creating--an end to unhappiness and oppression!”
“No!”
Everyone turned in surprise at the outburst from behind them. It took a great force of will--and a hurried explanation to the statue--for Oliver to be able to turn, but when he did, he found that Tirik had unwrapped the scarf from around his eyes. Shaking slightly in fear, the boy took a step toward the statue, looking straight at it. His hands were balled into fists, and his lip was quivering. “Maybe we don’t know if...if they’re unhappy, but...they definitely aren’t happy either!” he cried, addressing not Pafos, but instead the silent figure of a woman that stood before him. “They aren’t anything. That’s...that’s wrong.” He paused, still trembling, and took a deep breath to renew his courage before he continued. “My father’s right over there,” he said. “And I’ve been alone and...and scared.” His eyes began to glisten with moisture as he gestured at the blue-haired man, standing immobile with the others. “And it’s like he doesn’t even care,” he breathed, his words catching on a lump in his throat. “And...he should care. He would!”
Once the Doctor had picked up his scarf, slinging it around his shoulders, he stepped toward the boy, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “And he’d be very proud of you right now, if he could see you fighting for him,” he said.
As Oliver watched, frozen by the statue’s desire to hear every word, Tirik looked up at the man with tears in his eyes. “But he can’t, can he?” the boy asked softly.
“Oh, I think he does see you,” the Doctor replied with a reassuring smile. “He just can’t show it--not yet.”
Tirik swallowed hard, focusing his gaze on his father. “But will he?” he asked softly. “Will they let him go?”
“I hope to, Tirik. I hope so.” The Doctor turned slowly when he said those words, first looking directly into Oliver’s eyes and then into the statue’s.
“Let everyone go.” Oliver’s voice was soft, strained, as he struggled to get the words out despite the presence pressing down on his mind. “Please. They’ll talk to you. You can hear them through me. Let everyone else go, and you’ll see what we mean. I promise!”
And, for a silent moment, everyone waited for the statue’s response.
Part: 6/7
Rating: PG
Word Count: 3351
Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Thanks yet again to my fantastic beta vampydirector, as well as to vigor_di_vita for giving me additional help on a difficult scene.
Oliver was only dimly aware of the Doctor’s exhortation. He couldn’t take his eyes off the statue--especially its face. It was beautiful. The face was that of a woman’s, with a neatly curved nose, high cheekbones, and an elegant expression. Even more alluring than those features, however, were her eyes. Her eyes seemed to bore right into him. They were full of life in a way that a statue shouldn’t be, as if it were a real woman looking at him. No, he realized--she was a real woman; he could feel her eyes on him and hear her calling to him, asking him to stay with her.
He started to agree--to tell her that she was amazing and of course he’d be glad to stay. But a thought came to him then, though it was dim and distant at first. It whispered that staying was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be here with her; there was something else waiting for him. And someone was yelling at him--wanting his attention. Someone important. He had to...he had to what? He had to save...
No. He could hear the statue, speaking calmly and firmly in his mind, and her words felt so...right. He didn’t need to do anything. If he just stayed with her, then everything would be fine.
But it wasn’t fine. He wiggled his nose. Something smelled odd, and it was distracting. Distracting like that other voice, demanding his attention, reminding him...about...
Images flashed into his mind then--memories tied to the words he was distantly hearing. Memories about this world. He was a visitor here, wasn’t he? Of course he was. He was a traveler. But why was that-
Wait.
He realized then that the statue was still speaking to him. Her thoughts had been soft in his mind, flowing so easily that they were mixing with his own, but now she was confused. Her question had become so insistent that he could hear it clearly, interrupting him. She wanted to know what traveler meant.
He wondered why she was asking that, but he ignored the niggling doubts in his mind for the moment--as well as the strange, distracting smell. He wanted to please her, so he focused on explaining what she wanted to know instead. He told her that traveler meant he went from place to place--and time to time.
He could feel her surprise at that, though he didn’t understand it. He really did travel from time to time, he explained, and yeah, that was unusual for his people. Didn’t she know? Where he was from, it was unusual enough for people to go from world to world. But traveling through time--he only got to do that because of the Doctor.
The Doctor! A realization hit Oliver at that thought, followed by more images flashing through his mind--a man in a coat and extremely long, multi-colored scarf, with curly hair and big teeth. A friend. Someone very important. He was the voice, calling to him now. Oliver ignored the statue’s protests, struggling to hear that voice. The Doctor was telling him that he could help. That he could do something...where the Doctor couldn’t? No, that wasn’t possible. The Doctor could help anyone with anything. It was what he did.
A sudden change in the statue’s tone brought his attention back to her. She was asking now, with a hint of desperation--of need--if he really meant anyone. Even her?
Oliver didn’t even have to consider his response. Of course! What did she need?
Because his desire to help her matched her desire for help, the voice began to flow with his thoughts again, her questions and his answers merging together. Company? Just that? What about going home? Didn't she want that?
He could feel the emotion in her response--the sadness and the resignation--as though he were experiencing it himself. Quickly, he tried to counter it. No, it couldn’t be impossible. Nothing ever was. She only needed to ask the Doctor. He’d know a way.
But that offer didn’t make the statue feel any better. He asked her why, desperate to help her--to make her happy. But her response confused him. She couldn’t talk to the Doctor? Why not? Oliver’s thoughts were perplexed by her reply. Not even she knew why she couldn’t reach him.
But it only took a moment for the answer to occur to him: it had to be because the Doctor was a Time Lord. The Doctor had even mentioned something about that making him immune to the statue. At the statue’s next question, Oliver admitted that he didn’t really know what being a Time Lord meant, but he was sure it was the reason. And he quickly added that this didn’t have to stop the Doctor from helping her. Really, it wasn’t a problem at all. All it meant was that he’d have to ask the Doctor for her.
Her response was even more intense this time, holding a vehemence borne from fright. She would have to let Oliver go for him to speak to the Doctor, and she couldn’t do that.
Feeling her fear, he protested, assuring her that she didn’t have to be afraid of letting him go. He wouldn’t leave. He promised he wouldn’t. He could sense her skepticism, so he insisted. Really, he wouldn’t. There was no trick to it; he just wanted to help.
How did she know he wasn’t lying? He was surprised by that question. Well, she’d have to trust him. And what would he gain by leaving anyway?
She continued her protests, but he wouldn’t give up either. After all, he was the only one who could talk to her--really talk to her--so of course he wouldn’t just leave her forever. And maybe there was a way for her to talk through him?
But the statue’s thoughts had paused at his previous answer. She didn’t know what he meant. What about the others? The room was full of people that she was talking to.
He frowned at that, not understanding her either. She wasn’t talking to the others. How could she think she was? She was just leading them--guiding how they acted. Couldn’t she see how she changed them? They weren’t thinking; they weren’t talking like he and the statue were. They were just blindly following her wishes.
Oliver’s mind was troubled by her response--at the genuine confusion expressed through her thoughts. She didn’t think she was doing anything to them. But how could she not know? He could easily see exactly what she was doing.
The smell began to distract him again, bringing more images--more memories--into his thoughts. He’d seen people being used before, and he knew it wasn’t right. He wanted to make the statue happy, yes, but he could see now that what she was doing was wrong. And knowing that, he couldn’t let her continue.
The statue’s protest was immediate and painful in its emotional intensity. If she didn’t talk to the people here, she would be alone, and Oliver could feel every bit of her horror at that thought. He understood it, right down to his core--perhaps better than most people would understand it. He knew what it meant to be lonely. And he didn’t want her to be alone--he wouldn’t wish that on anyone--but he couldn’t let her control these men either. There had to be a better way for her to have company. And he would find it! She just needed to let go of him. Just a bit, so he could talk to the Doctor, and then he’d come back and talk to her. Wouldn’t she let him try?
Despite a lingering sense of uncertainty from the statue, the room finally came back into focus around him. Relieved, Oliver tried to turn his head away from the statue, but he couldn’t at first. He frowned, concentrating, and with a great force of will, he managed to turn to the Doctor. He found the man still yelling at him.
“Doctor,” he interrupted. He was surprised to notice that his voice sounded shaky and felt a little...distant. Detached. There was something else in the foreground of his mind--a pressure. A presence.
“Oliver!” The Doctor broke off what he had been saying, giving him a wide grin. “Have you been talking with our friend on the pedestal?”
“Yeah,” Oliver replied, fighting to focus on the man. His voice was coming out all wrong--flatter than it should be--but it seemed impossible to speak any other way, as though the presence in his mind were holding some part of him back. “She wants company. And she wishes she could go home.”
“Does she?” the Doctor asked curiously. “That’s understandable. And where does she consider home? Her planet of origin, perhaps?”
Before he could answer, Oliver became aware of another person in the room outside his mind--a woman. She was speaking, loudly and harshly, demanding his attention. Why was she being so emotional? The presence in his mind didn’t understand. He asked the statue to be quiet so he could listen to what the woman had to say, hoping to be able to explain.
“The Maiden has a new home!” the woman cried. “She lives here now. She’s happy here!”
As he looked at the woman, taking in her normal human stature, her dark hair, and her white clothing, he realized that he knew her. She was the lady Pafos, who he had learned was conniving and cruel. She was lying.
But the statue knew the lady as well, and she started to ask him to explain those thoughts. However, the woman continued speaking, her loud words blotting out their thoughts for the moment.
“She can have all the company she wants here!” Pafos continued. “And what can you give her? A long trip in darkness and loneliness.” She spat the words at the Doctor, her gaze fiery, before turning to the statue. Her eyes immediately filled with pleas. “Don’t listen to him, Maiden! Don’t let their tricks mislead you! Think of all I’ve done for you.”
Oliver had only just started to open his mouth to respond when the Doctor interrupted. His words weren’t half so emotional nor dramatic as Pafos’, but Oliver wanted to listen to him, and so the statue listened as well.
The Doctor was scoffing at Pafos’ claims. “Oliver isn’t in the business of misleading anyone,” he broke in, looking at the woman as though he were surprised by her outburst--surprise that Oliver, and therefore the Maiden, knew to be exaggerated. “And even if he were, he couldn’t. Not right now. Now when his mind is connected to the Lapidi’s. Unlike your mind, Pafos.” His look of surprise disappeared as quickly as it had come, his gaze taking on the glint of an edge. “Your mind that she can touch but not connect to--your female mind that protects you.”
Pafos gasped at those words, her eyes widening in rage. She glared at the Doctor, pointing a finger at Oliver accusingly. “We can talk just as he can! I haven’t lied to the Maiden!”
“But she doesn’t understand men,” Oliver spoke up, unable to help himself, as confused as he was by her declaration. Or was it only the presence inside him that was confused? It was hard to tell, the way their thoughts were mixing. “She doesn't know they think like women do. She believes they’re always flat, just staring and walking and not really living. Why did you make her think that?”
The woman’s gaze snapped to Oliver’s in alarm. “I did no such thing!" she cried, aghast.
Why does she keep yelling?
Oliver had opened his mouth to respond to Pafos, but he stopped at that interruption, going slightly rigid as he found himself getting lost in his mind again. He protested, but the statue had questions, and she wanted his full attention to be on answering them. So he gave up and instead tried to explain that yelling was something people did when they were angry or afraid. Oliver thought Pafos was afraid, but the statue didn’t understand why she would be. And was he really sure that she had been lying?
Oliver considered that question, his eyes watching the lady with a somewhat detached curiosity now that his mind could no longer focus on her properly. Maybe she wasn’t lying, he admitted, but she certainly seemed to be.
But before he could explain why he thought so, an idea occurred to him that put him off that train of thought. He couldn’t resist first asking the statue why she hadn’t thought Pafos might be lying before now. Why had she just listened to her and done as she’d asked?
We could never have imagined such an action.
Oliver couldn’t help the flood of surprise that flowed through his thoughts at her answer, even though he could see that every word the statue was speaking was the truth. He could feel it. Lapidi didn’t lie. In fact, he knew now--from the statue’s thoughts--that they didn’t even have a concept for lying. It didn’t exist on their world!
But that left him even more confused than before. Hoping to make him understand so Oliver would tell her more about Pafos, the statue explained that she only knew about lying because he did; she was learning about it through their connection. It was something humans did--she understood that now. So she asked again, how did he know that Pafos was lying?
Oliver struggled for a way to express how he knew. She was defensive, for one. And she had definitely kept information about how men lived from the statue. She had wanted to hide what she was really doing, not only from the men, but from the statue herself. And hiding information like that was lying already. If she’d lied about that, she was likely lying about other things, too. She probably needed to in order to protect whatever it was she was really trying to do.
The statue was distressed by those thoughts and, he could feel--to his dismay--reluctant to believe him. After all, Pafos had never tried to explain men to her, only encouraged her to meet them. And how could she know that Oliver wasn’t lying now? After all, he was human, and humans lied. So how could she trust his thoughts about Pafos’ reaction?
Oliver tried to reassure her. He didn’t like to lie--hadn’t she heard the Doctor say that? And she could see anything she wanted about Oliver, couldn’t she? She just had to look, and she’d know he wasn’t lying. And as far as Pafos was concerned, the more he thought about it, the more sure he was. He might not be able to explain it--not enough for the statue to be certain--but she could tell there was more going on with the men than what Pafos had told her, couldn’t she? And if she just allowed him to talk to Pafos a bit more, he promised everything would become clear. Really. He would make sure of it.
With that said, he gave another pull with his mind. The statue understood, and to his relief, she let him bring himself blearily back into reality. He found Pafos staring at him with a defiant look on her face, her lip curled.
“No. You lied,” Oliver said before she could protest again. This time, his voice was filled with flatness that was due to his growing certainty. “That’s why you chose this world, isn’t it?” he added. Now that he wasn’t experiencing the statue’s constant questioning, he could think more clearly. The facts were falling into place even as he said the words. “This world is a place where men and women live separately. A place where power over the men could convince the women to give you power. That’s all you really want, isn’t it? Power.” Oliver stopped, and his blank expression shifted just slightly, his eyes coming to life. He wasn’t sure if the sudden rush of pity was his or the statue’s or both, but he felt it all the same. “That’s sad,” he said softly.
At that, the lady Pafos’ defiant expression shifted until it seemed almost alive with fury. Her eyes were burning, her face flushed and her beautiful features contorted with rage. “You are twisting everything!” she fairly screeched.
“Then explain it,” Oliver pressed. “Why are you making these people prisoners?”
“I. Am. Not,” Pafos spat. “I am keeping them safe and keeping order in a society that didn’t have any. You didn’t see what it was like before I came! The men treated the women like their slaves--forced to come once a year and do whatever they were asked. The men had all the luxury, all the power, all the control. This was a broken world before I came. Look at it now! See what it’s like now!”
“We can see,” the Doctor spoke up. His voice was somehow both soft and booming at the same time, and his grim words filled the open room. “Now, the town is dead.”
Pafos’ eyes bulged. “Dead?” she scoffed. “It’s not dead. Look at all these people!” She swept a hand out toward the nearby men, every one of which was blankly watching the statue as events unfolded before them. “Do they look dead?” she pressed. “They sleep, they eat, they talk. The only thing they lack is unhappiness--and control over the women! You’re with the authorities, aren’t you, Doctor? You of all people should want exactly what I do. You should want what I’m creating--an end to unhappiness and oppression!”
“No!”
Everyone turned in surprise at the outburst from behind them. It took a great force of will--and a hurried explanation to the statue--for Oliver to be able to turn, but when he did, he found that Tirik had unwrapped the scarf from around his eyes. Shaking slightly in fear, the boy took a step toward the statue, looking straight at it. His hands were balled into fists, and his lip was quivering. “Maybe we don’t know if...if they’re unhappy, but...they definitely aren’t happy either!” he cried, addressing not Pafos, but instead the silent figure of a woman that stood before him. “They aren’t anything. That’s...that’s wrong.” He paused, still trembling, and took a deep breath to renew his courage before he continued. “My father’s right over there,” he said. “And I’ve been alone and...and scared.” His eyes began to glisten with moisture as he gestured at the blue-haired man, standing immobile with the others. “And it’s like he doesn’t even care,” he breathed, his words catching on a lump in his throat. “And...he should care. He would!”
Once the Doctor had picked up his scarf, slinging it around his shoulders, he stepped toward the boy, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “And he’d be very proud of you right now, if he could see you fighting for him,” he said.
As Oliver watched, frozen by the statue’s desire to hear every word, Tirik looked up at the man with tears in his eyes. “But he can’t, can he?” the boy asked softly.
“Oh, I think he does see you,” the Doctor replied with a reassuring smile. “He just can’t show it--not yet.”
Tirik swallowed hard, focusing his gaze on his father. “But will he?” he asked softly. “Will they let him go?”
“I hope to, Tirik. I hope so.” The Doctor turned slowly when he said those words, first looking directly into Oliver’s eyes and then into the statue’s.
“Let everyone go.” Oliver’s voice was soft, strained, as he struggled to get the words out despite the presence pressing down on his mind. “Please. They’ll talk to you. You can hear them through me. Let everyone else go, and you’ll see what we mean. I promise!”
And, for a silent moment, everyone waited for the statue’s response.