Doctor Who: The Trial of a Time Lord : The Ultimate Foe by Pip Baker, Jane Baker Page B
Authors: Pip Baker, Jane Baker
Ads: Link
subjugation via a monitor screen in the annex of his control room, the Master grinned.
Satisfaction sent adrenalin pumping through his veins.
‘No questions, Sabalom Glitz?’
‘Plenty. It’s the answers I can’t unravel.’
He watched the Doctor’s suffering with curiosity rather than concern.
‘Would I be wrong in thinking the Doc’ll soon be needing a machonite overcoat?’
‘Nothing so crude. He’s merely being reduced to a catatonic state.’
‘Cata – what?’
‘The violent assault on his senses will trip a defensive mechanism. His brain will switch off.’
‘He’ll become a zombie, you mean?’
‘Temporarily. Long enough for my purposes.’ Jauntily he re-entered the control room, followed by Glitz.
An honorary fellow of the Universal Order of Sceptics, Glitz threw a punch that missed the Doctor by a whisker.
‘Not a flicker. Nifty little trick. Have to teach it to me some time. Invaluable when I’m short of a few ready grotzis.
Waltz into a bank, switch on the catatonic whatchermacallit – and, hey presto, help yourself !’
The Master was setting the Time and Space co-ordinates.
‘We off somewhere?’
Glitz’s partner did not condescend to reply as the dematerialisation bellow trumpeted...
A regal woman, ensconced on a throne, began to materialise in a cul-de-sac.
A crown could be seen perched atop the severe hair-style. A well-corseted bosom above virtuously voluminous skirts. Using the Chameleon Circuit to convert his TARDIS into a marble sculpture of the English Queen Victoria, was a product of the Master’s irreverent humour.
A segment of the plinth separated and the Master and Glitz, supporting the comatose Doctor, stepped from beneath the throne.
‘This should prove an irresistible bait for the Valeyard,’
declared the Master, leading his supine victim through claustrophobic byways to position him, like a Judas goat, in mid-courtyard before the offices of Mr J. J. Chambers.
‘So that’s what you’re up to!’ exclaimed Glitz. ‘You Time Lords take the cake! Talk about devious. I’m transparent as crystal compared with you lot!’
Ignoring the impertinent diatribe, the Master balanced the paralysed body, then sought cover in an adjacent alcove.
Pricked by an alien twinge of conscience, Glitz lingered to straighten the Doctor’s crumpled pink velvet lapel.
‘Poor old Doc...’
‘Stop slobbering! Get over here!’
The squeaking of the Fantasy Factory door had Glitz scurrying for shelter!
Popplewick Junior, quill pen lodged behind his right ear, shuffled onto the balcony. He glanced down at the unmoving Doctor... and returned inside.
Cautioning Glitz to keep silent, the Master waited.
Mr Popplewick Senior, quill pen lodged behind his left ear, stepped onto the balcony. Peering over his half-rimmed spectacles, he tutted and returned inside.
Surreptitiously, the Master took out his Tissue Compression Eliminator... and held it ready to fire.
‘Hey, you’re not going to shoot the Doc, are you?’
‘Be quiet!’
‘Yeah, but –’ Glitz wasn’t too sure why he was protesting. Could it be a sneaking regard for the Time Lord? Or, more plausibly, was he squeamish at being an accessory to murder?
However, the TCE was not levelled at the courtyard. Its trajectory was higher. The balcony...
A rattle of the latch and the door opened.
But neither amply endowed crusty clerk exited.
Instead, the raven-black robed Valeyard strolled onto the balcony.
He did, nevertheless, share a common factor with the ponderous bureaucrats – a quill pen tucked behind his ear.
The Master triggered the TCE.
A lethal ray hit the Valeyard... Dead centre!
No effect. The ray was deflected.
Bemused, the Master fired again.
Same result.
‘You really are a second rate adversary,’ called the Valeyard. ‘Did you imagine I’d be lured by such a transparent ploy?’ He was referring to the Doctor who had remained transfixed throughout. ‘Second-rate in the extreme!’
Satisfaction sent adrenalin pumping through his veins.
‘No questions, Sabalom Glitz?’
‘Plenty. It’s the answers I can’t unravel.’
He watched the Doctor’s suffering with curiosity rather than concern.
‘Would I be wrong in thinking the Doc’ll soon be needing a machonite overcoat?’
‘Nothing so crude. He’s merely being reduced to a catatonic state.’
‘Cata – what?’
‘The violent assault on his senses will trip a defensive mechanism. His brain will switch off.’
‘He’ll become a zombie, you mean?’
‘Temporarily. Long enough for my purposes.’ Jauntily he re-entered the control room, followed by Glitz.
An honorary fellow of the Universal Order of Sceptics, Glitz threw a punch that missed the Doctor by a whisker.
‘Not a flicker. Nifty little trick. Have to teach it to me some time. Invaluable when I’m short of a few ready grotzis.
Waltz into a bank, switch on the catatonic whatchermacallit – and, hey presto, help yourself !’
The Master was setting the Time and Space co-ordinates.
‘We off somewhere?’
Glitz’s partner did not condescend to reply as the dematerialisation bellow trumpeted...
A regal woman, ensconced on a throne, began to materialise in a cul-de-sac.
A crown could be seen perched atop the severe hair-style. A well-corseted bosom above virtuously voluminous skirts. Using the Chameleon Circuit to convert his TARDIS into a marble sculpture of the English Queen Victoria, was a product of the Master’s irreverent humour.
A segment of the plinth separated and the Master and Glitz, supporting the comatose Doctor, stepped from beneath the throne.
‘This should prove an irresistible bait for the Valeyard,’
declared the Master, leading his supine victim through claustrophobic byways to position him, like a Judas goat, in mid-courtyard before the offices of Mr J. J. Chambers.
‘So that’s what you’re up to!’ exclaimed Glitz. ‘You Time Lords take the cake! Talk about devious. I’m transparent as crystal compared with you lot!’
Ignoring the impertinent diatribe, the Master balanced the paralysed body, then sought cover in an adjacent alcove.
Pricked by an alien twinge of conscience, Glitz lingered to straighten the Doctor’s crumpled pink velvet lapel.
‘Poor old Doc...’
‘Stop slobbering! Get over here!’
The squeaking of the Fantasy Factory door had Glitz scurrying for shelter!
Popplewick Junior, quill pen lodged behind his right ear, shuffled onto the balcony. He glanced down at the unmoving Doctor... and returned inside.
Cautioning Glitz to keep silent, the Master waited.
Mr Popplewick Senior, quill pen lodged behind his left ear, stepped onto the balcony. Peering over his half-rimmed spectacles, he tutted and returned inside.
Surreptitiously, the Master took out his Tissue Compression Eliminator... and held it ready to fire.
‘Hey, you’re not going to shoot the Doc, are you?’
‘Be quiet!’
‘Yeah, but –’ Glitz wasn’t too sure why he was protesting. Could it be a sneaking regard for the Time Lord? Or, more plausibly, was he squeamish at being an accessory to murder?
However, the TCE was not levelled at the courtyard. Its trajectory was higher. The balcony...
A rattle of the latch and the door opened.
But neither amply endowed crusty clerk exited.
Instead, the raven-black robed Valeyard strolled onto the balcony.
He did, nevertheless, share a common factor with the ponderous bureaucrats – a quill pen tucked behind his ear.
The Master triggered the TCE.
A lethal ray hit the Valeyard... Dead centre!
No effect. The ray was deflected.
Bemused, the Master fired again.
Same result.
‘You really are a second rate adversary,’ called the Valeyard. ‘Did you imagine I’d be lured by such a transparent ploy?’ He was referring to the Doctor who had remained transfixed throughout. ‘Second-rate in the extreme!’
Similar Books
