Doctor Who_ Curse of Peladon - Brian Hayles [25]
It was clear from the upward peaking of his Metabolism Pulse Modulator that Arcturus was rapidly recovering; but until he was in a fit state to speak, the delegates clustered about him, tense with anticipation. In the background, Hepesh glowered grimly, but his comments largely went unheeded. What Arcturus had to say was far more important.
‘Why do you not believe me?’ demanded the High Priest.
‘Aggedor has shown that he can use your own technology to defeat and even destroy you! Leave our world while you still can!’
‘Not before we’ve found what’s behind all this, Hepesh,’
murmured the Doctor, watching the globe that contained the Arcturian neuroform. It was virtually clear now. ‘It’s rather important to us all, I’d say.’
‘Let us hope there is no permanent neural damage,’ hissed Izlyr. ‘Arcturus,’ asked the Martian, as the tendrils of the neuroform began to move gently, ‘can you hear me? Do you know what has happened?’
Hepesh moved closer, keen-faced, as everyone waited for Arcturus answer. It came only with great hesitation.
‘I... have been... attacked...’ rasped the slurred metallic voice. ‘Attacked...’
‘Who was it?’ shrilled Alpha Centauri excitedly. ‘Did you see who?’
‘Speak, Arcturus!’ commanded Izlyr. ‘We must know!’
‘Was the face of Aggedor revealed to you, alien?’ cried Hepesh.
‘Give him a chance,’ muttered the Doctor. ‘He’s still suffering from shock, poor chap.’
Arcturus voicebox cleared its throat electronically. ‘Memory circuits... out of phase... something violent... happened to me...
but... I do not... remember...’ The halting voice finally broke down. It was obviously not going to be easy.
‘A dreadful experience,’ piped Alpha Centauri in sympathy.
‘Looks as if well have to ask him later,’ mused the Doctor, frowning. He moved away. ‘Pity, that.’
‘We cannot wait!’ insisted Izlyr. ‘The matter is too important! We must know now!’
‘Cannot... remember...’ repeated Arcturus pitiably. ‘Cannot remember...’
The computerised tones faded to an electronic hum, as Arcturus endeavoured to pull himself together. Izlyr turned.
The Doctor was strolling thoughtfully towards the door. Izlyr called out to him sharply.
‘Doctor, where are you going?’
‘Don’t worry, Izlyr, I’m not fleeing the country,’ replied the Doctor. ‘Just studying the lie of the land, that’s all.’ His last words came from the corridor outside.
Izlyr made no attempt to stop him, but was not satisfied. He turned back to the passive neuroplasm, determined that it should speak—and name its attacker.
No point in trying to pick the lock with a hairpin, Jo thought.
That crafty Martian has bolted it. It looked as though she’d be forced to sit and wait until Ssorg returned with his boss, Izlyr—
and then the fun would start. If it came to her word against Ssorg, it was obvious which would count most. And then not only Jo but the Doctor himself would be in dead trouble. She sighed, despondently. All because that blessed box had been connected to some sort of warning system! The Doctor was right—they knew what they were up to, these Martians! The more Jo thought about that, the more she wanted to wake up and find that everything so far was just a bad dream. She pinched herself.
It hurt. She sat down wearily, ready to resign herself to what was to follow. It was like being in the condemned cell. She looked about her, morosely—then looked again. High up on the far wall, there was a window, open and unbarred. She still had a chance.
Beneath the window opening, there were sockets in the wall.
Timbers had been there once, and Jo guessed it had probably been an archer’s window. The platform they had once stood upon to fire their arrows at the enemy was gone now. If Jo could get up there she was sure she’d be slim enough to slip through!
Anyway, it was better than nothing. The question was: how to reach the window ledge. The table she