Doctor Who_ Combat Rock - Mick Lewis [108]
‘Well, I’m sure we can find a proper motor canoe somewhere along the way,’ the Doctor said cheerily.
Victoria had thought of something; something it seemed everyone else was oblivious to.
‘But what about the fungus? Won’t others eat it and become insane like the Krallik – trying to control everybody and killing lots of innocent people?’
The Doctor sighed. ‘I’m afraid there will always be Kralliks, my dear. And not all of them will have the excuse of eating mind-distorting fungus. No, I think the lessons will be learnt from Agat; the people will return from the jungle and resume their earlier lives, but a little wiser for it. I think they will steer well clear of the growth from now on. And besides, he folded his hands together on his stomach and beamed at Santi. ‘We have a little advocate of sanity among us, don’t we?’
‘Uh?’ said the Indoni girl, squinting at him suspiciously.
She was already climbing into the canoe, impatient to be away from this island of horror.
‘Why, who better to propagate the word about the insidious effects of the fungus, than you, my dear? Yes, I think you might make rather an interesting missionary, don’t you?’
He unleashed a dazzling and slightly idiotic smile, obviously delighted by his own bright idea.
Santi turned to Jamie, now seated next to her in the canoe.
‘What rubbish he talking about?’
The Doctor’s face dropped. ‘Then again, perhaps not.’
He followed Victoria down into the canoe. Jamie pushed an oar against the side of the pier and the vessel moved smoothly out across the water.
No Mercy
Executions could get very boring, if you watched them too often.
It was like everything; you could always have too much of a good thing, Sabit thought, and supposed he was rather wickedly droll, as he prodded the pause button on his armchair panel. On the screen, the line of Papul men performed a little jig as the image flickered momentarily and then froze.
Sabit moved to the French windows opening onto the balcony of his palace. Outside, the sun was setting over Batu.
A glorious orchestra of colour, playing in the evening sky; purple, blue, lime green, screaming red. The crimson beach was sinking into shadow but the sea was irridescent with reflected beauty.
Life could be wondrous indeed...
The roar of pulse rifles made him jump. For a moment he thought the palace was being invaded as he spun around in shock. But the firing sounded decidedly too tinny to be real and his heart moved again as he realized it was merely his execution video playing again.
He peered through the open doors of his private chambers.
Someone was sitting in his chair.
He was speechless with rage. One of his personal servants daring to enter his rooms without permission? But of course it wasn’t a servant. Sabit knew that before he even saw the jester’s hat, the latex nose, the white facepaint and ludicrous lipstick grin. The mercenary was wearing a full-blown clown suit now instead of combat dress – purple blouse, yellow braces, multicoloured checked trousers. Only the army boots remained.
He re-entered his chambers slowly, thinking hard and fast.
His initial outrage was cooling, replaced by the first stroke of fear. This was most unorthodox, and he’d made it plain on a number of occasions that the mercenaries were not to approach him in his private palace. What had happened to his security? He didn’t like the look of this, the way the man was casually sitting watching Sabit’s video without even bothering to turn as the president stepped up to him.
He managed to control the trepidation however, and his voice was smooth as ever: ‘I wasn’t expecting you. May I ask how you got in?’
The killer in the clown suit continued to watch the execution. ‘Does it matter?’ he said after a moment, when the racket of pulse fire had died away and the bodies lay still in the dust.
‘I suppose not.’ A handful of seconds, then, quietly: ‘What do you want?’
The clown didn’t move. ‘Can’t you guess?’
A bolt of true, hard terror shot through Sabit.