Doctor Who_ Island of Death - Barry Letts [91]
The newly imposing Brother Alex, restored to his former charismatic stature, a classic figure in his timeless white robe, was on the platform in front of the ceremonial throne.
He held up his hand. The chatter subsided, and the groups dispersed to their seats.
He was standing as still as the statue of the Skang that Sarah Jane had described in London. Even with his diverse experience of decades of travel to some of the strangest civilisations in the farthest galaxies in the universe, the Doctor found it almost impossible to believe that this human being - whose face had at one time been on the front page of every tabloid - was nothing but an illusion, a mental image imposed by sheer psionic power.
Alex waited until the last of the fidgeting had stopped, and the murmurs had died down.
„It does my heart good to be standing here,‟ he said in the measured golden tones that had, on occasion, held more than six hundred MPs enthralled. „It does my heart good to see my comrades in this great endeavour ranged before me, in unity at last. It does my heart good to know that the bad times are over, the shillyshallying is behind us. We can go forward together in strength to meet our destiny!‟
At this, there was a tentative clapping, which was picked up and swiftly grew into a full-blooded round of applause.
A murmur from behind the Doctor‟s shoulder. „Typical claptrap!‟ said Professor Hutchens. He had to agree.
„And now... what we‟ve all been waiting for. The moment fast approaches when our devoted followers...‟
Was that the suspicion of a sneer?
„...and indeed we ourselves will get our reward.‟
„Doctor!‟ An urgent whisper behind him. „We must do something! They‟re about to turn!‟
If he leapt through the opening in front of him, he‟d have a javelin in his back. If he tried to mount a diversion while Hilda escaped, they would almost certainly both be killed. He shrugged. They were helpless.
The applause died away. As soon as there was complete silence, Alex indicated that they should all stand up. They rose as one, let their heads fall back, and closed their eyes.
Once more the Doctor put his hands over his ears as he heard the alien voices, the crescendo of cacophony that had presaged the transformation before.
There was nothing to be done. Nothing that could be done.
He had failed. It was at this moment that the first missile arrived.
„Just over! And to the right. Shorten range by fifty yards.‟
Pete Andrews stood up from the voice-pipe, which was always used in action, rather than a microphone, as the electrics could so easily be knocked out.
„Shorten range. Fifty yards.‟ Bob Simkins‟ voice floated back from the little gunnery control room deep below the bridge. From the radar scan in front of him, he would be able to confirm the CO‟s report, and make the necessary adjustments.
The Brigadier, surveying the plume of smoke from behind the volcano through his glasses - and the cloud of shrieking sea birds that had taken off from the cliff - firmly put out of his mind the thought that once they got the range they would in all probability be killing the Doctor, and allowed himself to feel a certain professional satisfaction.
This was the answer, without a doubt. That first explosion was enormous. Another like that actually into the crater would mean the end of the Skang.
Chris‟s voice came through from the foredeck. „Number Two, armed and ready!‟
This was the drill. Only one missile at a time to be fully operational. For safety, especially in a rough sea. Now, however, the Hallaton was almost as steady as she would have been in the lagoon. The sea was as still as glass, stretching