trolley and bit into it, chewing thoroughly to absorb the correct nutrients and ease digestion.
He spoke again, addressing the empty command deck. ‘I have confirmed the location of the book. It shall soon be mine.’ This was not strictly the truth, of course. He had left the Ship fully confident of the book’s location, and fully intending to return with it. There was no logical reason to dissemble, but in fact Skagra had already rewritten his recent history in order to eliminate his concern over the mysterious guest in the Professor’s rooms.
‘Congratulations, my lord,’ said the warm, soothing voice of his truest, most trusted, and in fact only, companion.
He took another bite from the fruit and said casually, ‘Tell me of a Time Lord called “the Doctor”.’
The Ship opened up a data window on the opposite side of the command deck and accessed its data store. Information began to scroll across the window, and Skagra blinked repeatedly, absorbing the information into the data-spike embedded in his cortex. The data store had combed all available information, including the secret and arcane Time Lord histories that were part of Skagra’s own book collection. These books were lined up neatly, their spines matching perfectly, in a sterile, dust-resistant recess in a corner of the command deck, further protected by a powerful force field. Skagra had never physically opened the books, never so much as touched them, but had used scanning devices and robo-papyrologists to extract the information from within and add it to the store with no damage to the originals.
As Skagra watched, he learnt of the Doctor’s early history, academic achievements, his family ties on Gallifrey and elsewhere, and the exact reasons for his first flight from his home world. But all of that was irrelevant. He needed to know about the Doctor as he was now.
Skagra flinched as a grainy image of the Doctor from some ancient video-text flashed by. He was a tall, imposing figure dressed scruffily in a long frock coat, a broad-brimmed hat and an unfeasibly long multi-coloured scarf. He had untidy curly hair, the wide, staring eyes of a child and he smiled all the time.
But he had seen this person, this idiot, earlier today, cartwheeling his arms as he lost control of the water transport on the river! Could this buffoon really be the Doctor?
It appeared that he was. Skagra focused in on a random selection of video-texts involving the Doctor and scrutinised them closely.
The first concerned events on a primitive world called Tara. The Doctor allowed himself to become embroiled in the piffling politics of the planet, siding with one faction against another. The Doctor made a show of acting under duress, but it was clear to Skagra that he was carelessly and irresponsibly enjoying himself. It was not exactly a bad video-text, just a rather bland one.
The second text told of intrigue on the third moon of Delta Magna, where a future Earth methane-refinery and some natives were being menaced by an enormous swamp creature known as Kroll. Again, the Doctor behaved with unbecoming frivolity throughout.
Finally Skagra reviewed a text that told of another enormous creature, this one inhabiting a pit on a planet called Chloris. Skagra noted how the Doctor seemed to react to danger and the threat of death with nonchalance, masking his Time Lord wisdom. It was a pathetic ploy that seemed to fool the low-grade antagonists he encountered.
Skagra found himself bristling. There was something about this Doctor that got under his skin. He was so messy, so silly. He needed to be tidied away. He’d wipe the imbecilic, toothy grin off the man’s stupid face for ever –
Skagra stilled himself. He was not prey to such instinctive, animal reactions. Looked at objectively, the Doctor was nothing but a shambling fool, a 1 out of 10 Time Lord larking about on 2 out of 10 planets.
‘So,’ he said out loud, ‘he is an ordinary Time Lord, albeit with an
He spoke again, addressing the empty command deck. ‘I have confirmed the location of the book. It shall soon be mine.’ This was not strictly the truth, of course. He had left the Ship fully confident of the book’s location, and fully intending to return with it. There was no logical reason to dissemble, but in fact Skagra had already rewritten his recent history in order to eliminate his concern over the mysterious guest in the Professor’s rooms.
‘Congratulations, my lord,’ said the warm, soothing voice of his truest, most trusted, and in fact only, companion.
He took another bite from the fruit and said casually, ‘Tell me of a Time Lord called “the Doctor”.’
The Ship opened up a data window on the opposite side of the command deck and accessed its data store. Information began to scroll across the window, and Skagra blinked repeatedly, absorbing the information into the data-spike embedded in his cortex. The data store had combed all available information, including the secret and arcane Time Lord histories that were part of Skagra’s own book collection. These books were lined up neatly, their spines matching perfectly, in a sterile, dust-resistant recess in a corner of the command deck, further protected by a powerful force field. Skagra had never physically opened the books, never so much as touched them, but had used scanning devices and robo-papyrologists to extract the information from within and add it to the store with no damage to the originals.
As Skagra watched, he learnt of the Doctor’s early history, academic achievements, his family ties on Gallifrey and elsewhere, and the exact reasons for his first flight from his home world. But all of that was irrelevant. He needed to know about the Doctor as he was now.
Skagra flinched as a grainy image of the Doctor from some ancient video-text flashed by. He was a tall, imposing figure dressed scruffily in a long frock coat, a broad-brimmed hat and an unfeasibly long multi-coloured scarf. He had untidy curly hair, the wide, staring eyes of a child and he smiled all the time.
But he had seen this person, this idiot, earlier today, cartwheeling his arms as he lost control of the water transport on the river! Could this buffoon really be the Doctor?
It appeared that he was. Skagra focused in on a random selection of video-texts involving the Doctor and scrutinised them closely.
The first concerned events on a primitive world called Tara. The Doctor allowed himself to become embroiled in the piffling politics of the planet, siding with one faction against another. The Doctor made a show of acting under duress, but it was clear to Skagra that he was carelessly and irresponsibly enjoying himself. It was not exactly a bad video-text, just a rather bland one.
The second text told of intrigue on the third moon of Delta Magna, where a future Earth methane-refinery and some natives were being menaced by an enormous swamp creature known as Kroll. Again, the Doctor behaved with unbecoming frivolity throughout.
Finally Skagra reviewed a text that told of another enormous creature, this one inhabiting a pit on a planet called Chloris. Skagra noted how the Doctor seemed to react to danger and the threat of death with nonchalance, masking his Time Lord wisdom. It was a pathetic ploy that seemed to fool the low-grade antagonists he encountered.
Skagra found himself bristling. There was something about this Doctor that got under his skin. He was so messy, so silly. He needed to be tidied away. He’d wipe the imbecilic, toothy grin off the man’s stupid face for ever –
Skagra stilled himself. He was not prey to such instinctive, animal reactions. Looked at objectively, the Doctor was nothing but a shambling fool, a 1 out of 10 Time Lord larking about on 2 out of 10 planets.
‘So,’ he said out loud, ‘he is an ordinary Time Lord, albeit with an
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