Doctor Who_ Father Time - Lance Parkin [49]
‘Your disc drew its power from your spacecraft, didn’t it?’ the Doctor said softly. ‘It’s over: you’re marooned here, the Prefect is dead. There’s nothing left to fight over.’
The Deputy still had a knife in his hand. He waved it at the Doctor, but the effort was almost too much for him.
The Doctor prised his fingers apart, took the knife from him.
‘Fighting isn’t the answer. And even if it was, this isn’t your fight. Save your strength.’
‘Blood feud on you and all your kin,’ the Deputy spat.
‘No,’ the Doctor said. ‘Not today, thank you.’
The Deputy glared at him, but then his eyes glazed over, as if just staring was too much effort. The Deputy’s head lolled.
Debbie helped the Doctor to his feet. He squeezed her hand.
‘I’m OK,’ she told him. ‘Barry’s...’
The Doctor nodded. ‘This one is unconscious, but he’ll live.’
They heard Miranda groan.
‘Check her,’ the Doctor ordered, searching the pockets on the Deputy’s flak jacket. He found what he was looking for in a side pouch – simple wrist restraints, which he used to bind the Deputy’s hands behind his back. There was no anachronistic technology that the Doctor could find, apart from a wrist communicator, which he removed.
‘Miranda’s OK,’ Debbie called over. She was doing up Miranda’s pyjama top.
The girl was rubbing her eyes. ‘What’s happened? Why am I outside?’
The Doctor moved over to her and knelt down, so he could make better eye contact.
‘Something terrible has happened,’ Debbie said calmly, as her teacher training said she should.
There were police and ambulance sirens now, but they seemed so distant. Like the fire and the snow, they seemed to be happening elsewhere.
The Doctor clutched Miranda’s hand. It was warm, tiny next to his own.
‘I’ll protect you,’ he told her, tears in his eyes. ‘I’ll look after you.’
* * *
* * *
Part Two
‘Masters of the Universe’
The Mid-1980s
* * *
Chapter Ten
Eighties’ Child
Rex saw the young woman on the way to pick up a fax.
She was sitting on the leather sofa outside the interview room. She was a teenager, penned blonde, with long legs. She was wearing Levi 501s, a baggy white shirt and a tapestry waistcoat. If she was here for an interview, she wasn’t dressed for it. But if Rex had been doing the interview, she’d definitely have got the job.
Rex straightened his tie and went over.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Are you OK there?’
‘There’s nothing to read,’ she complained. Her accent was difficult to place, but vaguely northern. She sounded younger than she looked.
‘Can’t help you there,’ Rex replied. ‘Do you want a drink?’
‘Water?’ she suggested.
Rex smiled and pointed to the fridge. ‘No one ever sees it,’ he reassured her, opening up the panel on the wall. ‘Good, eh? This whole reception area was designed by Imojagi.’
She nodded, but clearly hadn’t heard of Imojagi. Well, that was good: not many people had yet.
He handed her a bottle of Dragonwater. ‘Nothing but the best here,’ he assured her.
‘Wow! Dragon,’ she said, and Rex was exhilarated by her enthusiasm. ‘I come from Greyfrith, where this is bottled. Do you have a glass?’
Rex sat down beside her. ‘Drink it from the bottle,’ he told her.
The young woman did, a little awkwardly at first. She had to lower the bottle for a moment to giggle at herself. Rex laughed along with her.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
‘Miranda,’ the young woman said.
‘Miranda. Miranda Who?’
She laughed, a lovely, musical sound.
‘I’m Rex,’ he said, although she hadn’t asked.
‘And what do you do, Rex?’
‘I’m on the board,’ he said, although that wasn’t enough to impress her. ‘I’m here today because...’ He lowered his voice. ‘Because in there,’ Rex began, ‘is the genius behind Dragonwater. Five years ago, hardly anyone drank bottled water. Since then, there have been a couple of safety scares. People don’t trust what comes out of a tap. And nowadays people like labels. They don’t want to settle for second best: they want designer stuff. He saw all that. Legend has it, he was in a pub and he told the barman to sell his pub and buy a bottling