Doctor Who_ Earthworld - Jacqueline Rayner [62]
‘No, I don’t.’
The President didn’t respond.
112
EarthWorld
‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ said the Doctor, getting up and heading back to the tiny control room.
The Doctor looked at the screen again. It was still showing the same blank passage.
The Asia android had obviously been trying to fix the control panels, but hadn’t got far. The Doctor sat down and examined the desk. He twisted a dial that he thought should operate the scanner, but it came off in his hand.
Flicking a few switches produced no effect, either: the picture remained static.
He took his sonic screwdriver from his trouser pocket and began to take apart the nearest panel. A few minutes later he tried turning the dial again, and to his delight images began zipping across the screen. Adjustments brought him the sight of a small, coffee-skinned young woman walking with a tall blond man and a redheaded boy by her side. The Doctor frowned. Then he realised he’d used the sonic screwdriver without having to think about not thinking about it, and grinned instead.
The door opened, and Hoover came in. ‘I have to see them,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I have to see the girls. Speak to them.’
‘You can come with me,’ said the Doctor, jumping up. He called back over his shoulder as he left the control room. ‘I’m going that way.’
Hoover followed the Doctor out of the door and through the throne room.
Outside, the Doctor asked him to wait for a moment. He nipped back in and reclaimed his jacket off the android’s body. This time he didn’t give the green-dressed figure a second glance.
Fitz was really tiring now. He had darted, dodged, ducked and dived, swerved and skipped, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep going. Elvis seemed to have more stamina, though he was puffing and panting a bit. It seemed that doing a concert a night must keep you fitter than adventuring round the universe, which was a bit unfair. Or maybe it was because Elvis was used to having young girls screaming at his every move and didn’t find it quite so distracting.
Having exhausted most of the weaponry, the two were facing off each other with big sticks, circling round and round the ring, neither making a move. To either side, the girls were rummaging in boxes, trying to find something to give their chosen one an advantage. Africa suddenly stood up straight. ‘I’ve got the gun,’ she called, holding it up on the other side of the barrier.
Several Singalongs
113
‘Then give it here, kid!’ yelled Elvis, lumbering around the ring and trying to hit Fitz with his long stick.
‘No, don’t!’ squeaked Fitz. He desperately called out to his only possibly ally.
‘Antarctica!’
‘I don’t have a gun,’ she called back cheerfully. ‘We’ve only got one.’
‘That doesn’t help!’
‘Oh, she won’t give it to him – will you, Africa? – ’cos it’s much too quick.’
‘Then why’s she waving it around like that?’ Fitz yelped.
It was all too much for Elvis. He turned to Africa. ‘Give me the goddamn gun, baby doll!’
It took Fitz a fraction of a second to realise that Elvis was no longer facing him. This was it! His moment of golden opportunity! Big stick, back of head, unconscious Elvis: problem, if not solved, then at least temporarily suspended.
Yes!
Fitz launched himself across the ring towards Elvis’s back. And – and as he fell he knew that this would be immortalised for ever as his most embarrassing moment, and how embarrassing to die embarrassed – his pumping arms brought forward the scourge, all but forgotten in his left hand. One of its thongs whipped up and caught round the end of his own big stick, yanking it out of his grip. A barb from another thong caught on his shiny shorts in mid run, jerking them down to his knees and sending him crashing to the floor. Oh shit.
Elvis was turning, was above him, and he’d dropped his big stick and had picked up a sword. . .
Fitz was scrambling to get up, get out of the way, but he was all tangled up with strips of leather and shorts at half-mast and couldn’t manage it. He was going to die with his trousers down.
Elvis was raising the