Doctor Who: The Trial of a Time Lord : The Ultimate Foe by Pip Baker, Jane Baker Page A
Authors: Pip Baker, Jane Baker
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thought, is a different proposition.’
Spelt out this precisely, the Doctor could no longer evade the import of the Valeyard. So far he had drawn a veil over the accusation, blotting it from his mind. Now he had to face the fact that the cold, calculating prosecutor was the personification of every deplorable act he had ever committed; every adverse deed he had even comtemplated.
The malice he had learnt to govern had burst from its cage and been reincarnated into this monster known as the Valeyard.
‘Additionally, the Valeyard has infuriated me by threatening to deny me the gratification of personally bringing about your destruction. And so, he must pay the price!’ The Master grabbed Glitz and thrust him, unceremoniously, into the annex.
‘Curtain speech? Or prologue to the next act?’
The Doctor mused. ‘With the Master, one can never be certain.’
He tested both doors – to the exterior and the annex.
His suspicions were confirmed. They were locked. And he was a prisoner. What abasement had the warped miscreant in store for him now.. ?
Commencing insiduously... vibrant, pulsating, variegated lights began to accost him...
They dipped and swirled... faster and faster, to the accompaniment of a staccato, supersonic screech...
He pressed his knuckles to his ears... twisted and turned in the accelerating strobic lights, trying to block out the brain-numbing assault... squeezed shut his eyelids...
The onslaught of the disorientating maelstrom would not be denied.
Gradually the clenched knuckles relaxed...
His arms fell leadenly to his sides...
The wrinkled eyelids slowly rose... exposing the blue eyes to the mesmeric lights...
Sight, hearing, muscles, senses, were immobilised.
The Doctor stood erect...
Unable to move... see... or speak...
A prisoner indeed...
12
The Baiter Bitten
Incongruously, the statuesque rigour of the Doctor reminded Mel of the waxworks in Madame Tussauds: a museum in London, England, that housed many effigies of the famous who peopled her planet Earth.
A shudder shook her slender frame, for it was the basement of the popular landmark that came to mind – the Chamber of Horrors!
She regarded with contempt the calm faces of the esteemed observers in the Courtroom. It was difficult to accept that these were the same species as the altruistic Doctor. Their impassivity was tantamount to callousness.
Her attention strayed to the Key of Rassilon hanging about the Keeper’s neck. Her attempt to secure it had been baulked... would she have the opportunity to try again.. ?
The Master would have been arrogantly amused by Mel’s futile attempts to gain the Key of Rassilon. Indeed, had he not been engaged in subjugating the Doctor, he could have told the tale of his own adroitness in obtaining access to the Matrix.
The Time Lords of Gallifrey had, over the aeons, developed a trait that could only be described as an acute case of Achilles Heel. These vain-glorious elitists no longer deigned to carry out those tedious day-to-day chores which occurred even in the most perfect of societies. Maintenance of the Matrix had been delegated – nay, relegated – to the Elzevirs, inhabitants of the Moon of Leptonica; a lunar satellite in the constellation of Daedalus.
These delicate creatures specialised in micro-technology and were, therefore, ideally suited to disburden the slothful Gallifreyans from the tedium of servicing and refurbishing the micro-circuitry of the Matrix.
This, then, was the Achilles Heel, the chink in the armour the Gallifreyans had unwittingly provided for the Master to exploit.
Unable to hypnotise a fellow Time Lord, he was under no such handicap when it came to the Elzevirs.
His mesmerising medallion easily enslaved Nilex, the supervisor of the repair team.
Symptoms of a fault were induced into the Matrix and Nilex, a vassal of the renegade, utilised the opportunity to make a duplicate Key of Rassilon for the Master...
Witnessing the Doctor’s
Spelt out this precisely, the Doctor could no longer evade the import of the Valeyard. So far he had drawn a veil over the accusation, blotting it from his mind. Now he had to face the fact that the cold, calculating prosecutor was the personification of every deplorable act he had ever committed; every adverse deed he had even comtemplated.
The malice he had learnt to govern had burst from its cage and been reincarnated into this monster known as the Valeyard.
‘Additionally, the Valeyard has infuriated me by threatening to deny me the gratification of personally bringing about your destruction. And so, he must pay the price!’ The Master grabbed Glitz and thrust him, unceremoniously, into the annex.
‘Curtain speech? Or prologue to the next act?’
The Doctor mused. ‘With the Master, one can never be certain.’
He tested both doors – to the exterior and the annex.
His suspicions were confirmed. They were locked. And he was a prisoner. What abasement had the warped miscreant in store for him now.. ?
Commencing insiduously... vibrant, pulsating, variegated lights began to accost him...
They dipped and swirled... faster and faster, to the accompaniment of a staccato, supersonic screech...
He pressed his knuckles to his ears... twisted and turned in the accelerating strobic lights, trying to block out the brain-numbing assault... squeezed shut his eyelids...
The onslaught of the disorientating maelstrom would not be denied.
Gradually the clenched knuckles relaxed...
His arms fell leadenly to his sides...
The wrinkled eyelids slowly rose... exposing the blue eyes to the mesmeric lights...
Sight, hearing, muscles, senses, were immobilised.
The Doctor stood erect...
Unable to move... see... or speak...
A prisoner indeed...
12
The Baiter Bitten
Incongruously, the statuesque rigour of the Doctor reminded Mel of the waxworks in Madame Tussauds: a museum in London, England, that housed many effigies of the famous who peopled her planet Earth.
A shudder shook her slender frame, for it was the basement of the popular landmark that came to mind – the Chamber of Horrors!
She regarded with contempt the calm faces of the esteemed observers in the Courtroom. It was difficult to accept that these were the same species as the altruistic Doctor. Their impassivity was tantamount to callousness.
Her attention strayed to the Key of Rassilon hanging about the Keeper’s neck. Her attempt to secure it had been baulked... would she have the opportunity to try again.. ?
The Master would have been arrogantly amused by Mel’s futile attempts to gain the Key of Rassilon. Indeed, had he not been engaged in subjugating the Doctor, he could have told the tale of his own adroitness in obtaining access to the Matrix.
The Time Lords of Gallifrey had, over the aeons, developed a trait that could only be described as an acute case of Achilles Heel. These vain-glorious elitists no longer deigned to carry out those tedious day-to-day chores which occurred even in the most perfect of societies. Maintenance of the Matrix had been delegated – nay, relegated – to the Elzevirs, inhabitants of the Moon of Leptonica; a lunar satellite in the constellation of Daedalus.
These delicate creatures specialised in micro-technology and were, therefore, ideally suited to disburden the slothful Gallifreyans from the tedium of servicing and refurbishing the micro-circuitry of the Matrix.
This, then, was the Achilles Heel, the chink in the armour the Gallifreyans had unwittingly provided for the Master to exploit.
Unable to hypnotise a fellow Time Lord, he was under no such handicap when it came to the Elzevirs.
His mesmerising medallion easily enslaved Nilex, the supervisor of the repair team.
Symptoms of a fault were induced into the Matrix and Nilex, a vassal of the renegade, utilised the opportunity to make a duplicate Key of Rassilon for the Master...
Witnessing the Doctor’s
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