Doctor Who_ Christmas on a Rational Planet - Lawrence Miles [73]
– no, that was just silly –
– as if the man had been built to be Doctor-proof.
The Doctor reached the end of Paris Street. Oh, very well.
There was obviously no other way. He’d have to change his perspective again, alter his perceptions, turn his thought processes into something more Time-Lord-ish. He’d have to develop a more advanced solution to the problem.
Ching, went the scalpel as it embedded itself in his back.
Step one. Identify the weapon.
The gun was the same shape as an eighteenth-century rifle, if elongated at the snout. It was silver in colour, the same tone as the My First Blaster weapons that had been popular the year before Roz had left her own century, low-intensity energy weapons designed for young children. Yeah, that was what Catcher’s gun made her think of. Toy weaponry. Right down to the chunky plastic trigger-guard and the zigzag of lightning carved into the handle.
Step two. Surrender.
Roz raised her hands. Catcher hardly seemed to notice. The trigger was a millimetre away from the point where it would (probably) activate the gun.
Step three.
‘Congratulations,’ Roz heard herself say.
The finger froze. Then relaxed. A little.
Catcher snapped his head to one side with a nasty snapping sound, and Roz was sure she heard words clicking between his ears. AGENT OF CACOPHONY. YOU KNOW IT.
REMOVE. OR SOMETHING.
‘The Watchmakers are very happy with you,’ she continued, wondering who in the name of the Goddess the Watchmakers were. No, don’t think about that. It doesn’t matter. He knows, or thinks he does, and that’s good enough.
CACOPHONY. AGENT. WATCHMAKERS. WHAT?
‘I know who you are,’ Catcher insisted.
Roz nodded, hoping he’d think the sweat on her face was rainwater. ‘Good. Then you know you can trust me.’
That had been a risk. Catcher prodded the air in front of him with the end of his gun. TRUST. NOT RATIONAL. ‘You are an agent of...’ he began, then trailed off.
Roz tried to make out the voices that were buzzing around inside his head. In his present unstable state, she wondered whether there was a brain in his skull at all, or just a cavity filled with words. ‘I was an agent of Ca... Cacophony?’ she guessed, and saw his trigger-finger itch again. ‘But then I saw the error of my ways. I work for the Watchmakers now.’ She had no idea what she was actually telling him, and she briefly wondered how much of it might be true.
WATCHMAKERS. WATCHMAKERS. The voices were mechanical and sounded like echoes in a metal-walled room, but she recognized the tones of Catcher’s own voice behind the distortions. That settled it. There were no Watchmakers.
There was just Catcher. Catcher the raving loon.
‘You are a woman,’ Catcher finally said.
‘Well spotted.’ Roz became aware of movement behind her, and guessed that Daniel had got to his feet. He was probably making for the doorway. Catcher didn’t seem to notice. ‘Yes, I’m a woman. Look, maybe I should explain.’
EXPLAIN. RATIONAL. Roz lowered her hands, and Catcher made no move to stop her.
‘Incidentally, that’s a very nice gun,’ she continued, hoping to change the subject. It had worked for the Doctor often enough. ‘Where did you get it?’
‘It is an electro-static galvanistic rifle,’ Catcher announced.
‘Oh. That’s nice.’
A thought seemed to strike him. ‘If you were working for the Watchmakers, you would know. The gun was a gift from the Watchmakers. From their temple.’ And the voices were saying REMOVE, REMOVE, REMOVE.
The gun was pointing at her again. A gift from the Watchmakers, was it? More likely that it had been created along with the other