Doctor Who_ Father Time - Lance Parkin [117]
The Doctor paced around the room.
Miranda wasn’t here.
The door had been booby-trapped. They’d destroyed the sonic suitcase. They’d killed... they’d... they’d been expecting him.
The Doctor turned.
A middle-aged man in green body armour stood in the doorway.
The man had a long, curved blade in his hand.
‘I’m glad it was her, not you,’ he said, stepping over Debbie’s body. ‘I wanted your death to be at my hands.’
* * *
Chapter Twenty-six
Death in the Family
Ferran filled the doorway. He was standing over Debbie’s body, a sneer on his face.
‘Where is my daughter?’ the Doctor asked quietly.
The Prefect absent-mindedly prodded Debbie with his foot. ‘I don’t know. She’s managed to escape, but she can’t have left the ship.’ He looked up. ‘I will hunt her down. I only need one of you alive; your brain pattern is as good as hers. All things being equal, I would have spared Miranda. But I might have her beheaded just to see the look on your face.’ He chuckled at his witticism.
The Doctor turned to face the Prefect square on.
Ferran was still sneering. ‘What’s the matter, Doctor, no bons mots? No quips? I thought the pen was mightier than the sword. I thought you could destroy your enemies with a well-chosen word.’
The Doctor took a step, then another, the third step was easier. By the sixth and seventh, he was charging forward.
Ferran faced him, readied himself for the attack.
But the Doctor was already there. He slammed into the Prefect. Ferran tried to slash him with his knife, but the Doctor was already forcing it out of his hand.
‘That’s right,’ Ferran hissed. ‘Fight me. Feels good, doesn’t it?’
Ferran shoved the Doctor away from him, then punched him in the stomach.
‘But you’ll have to be faster than that.’
The Doctor chose not to feel the pain. Instead he lashed out, swinging a punch that Ferran barely avoided.
Ferran grabbed the Doctor’s sleeve, reached up, under his arm, twisted around, then hoisted the Doctor over his shoulder, pivoted him, threw the Doctor on to his back into the middle of the room.
‘Not very good at this, are you?’ Ferran smirked as the Doctor forced air back into his lungs and tried to get back on his feet.
He faced Ferran, got a couple of jabs to his opponent’s head. Ferran blocked the third, grabbing his arm, twisting it, until the Doctor was forced to sink to his knees.
‘You’ve got the strength,’ Ferran said. ‘You’ve got the technique. But you don’t have that killer instinct. Your hearts aren’t in it. You think it’s the last resort, but it’s not: it’s the fundamental unit of social control.’
But the Doctor shuffled forward, broke Ferran’s grip and punched him hard on the foot.
As Ferran hopped back, the Doctor was on his feet again, launching a chop to the neck and a flat palm in Ferran’s face, all one move. The Doctor brought his knee up to Ferran’s stomach, winded him. Then a single punch floored the Prefect.
Ferran coughed, gasped for breath.
The Doctor glared down. ‘What’s the matter? No bons mots, no quips?’
The Doctor knelt over him, pressed his knee into Ferran’s chest and punched him hard in the face. He felt Ferran’s nose break. He hesitated, but only for a moment, then punched him again.
Ferran slumped back.
The Doctor got up, and stood panting. He had to find Miranda.
He paced around the room.
Ferran was on his hands and knees, glaring at him.
‘Why stop?’ Ferran asked, wiping blood from his lip.
‘Not so good against someone who can fight back, are you?’ the Doctor shouted.
Ferran smiled and started to rise.
‘Where are your principles now, Doctor? I thought you abhorred violence. I thought you used your mind, not your fists.’
‘You’re a bully, Ferran,’ the Doctor snapped. ‘Sometimes bullies need to be fought. Where’s Miranda?’
Ferran ignored him this time. ‘You think you’re brave because you started this, but you aren’t, not unless you finish it.’
Ferran leapt