Doctor Who_ Last of the Gaderene - Mark Gatiss [39]
‘You’re strong, for such an old creature,’ she said flatly.
‘But you can’t last for ever. Why don’t you tell me what I want to know?’
Whistler let his head sink on to his chest. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Bliss marched up to him and pulled back his hair savagely.
Whistler yelled in agony. ‘Show me!’ she bellowed. ‘Show me the ninth key!’
Whistler sat up. This was new. ‘The ninth key?’
Bliss plucked at her blouse as though angry with herself.
‘The ninth key to what?’ persisted Whistler.
Bliss didn’t speak. Instead, she moved to the side of the room where a small table had been set out next to the humming computer banks. Laid out on a white cloth were about half a dozen metal objects. Whistler struggled to make them out clearly in the gloom. They appeared to be chromium in texture but fashioned in such strange shapes that he had no idea what purpose they served.
Bliss stepped up to the table and passed her hand over the objects, settling on the third in line. She lifted it close to her milk-white face and Whistler made out a network of glittering blades, like the razor teeth of a lamprey, set into its circular head.
Bliss pressed a switch and the chrome instrument emitted a high-pitched whir.
Whistler began to breathe very hard indeed.
Outside, on the catwalk, the Doctor strained to hear what was going on in the office. Frustratingly, a light seemed to have been switched on, but it did no more than illuminate what looked like the side of a man’s face. The voices within were rendered indecipherable by the thick plate glass.
He pressed his face to the window and tried once again to peer inside. Could that be the Wing Commander? And was he being held against his will?
A bulky shape moved into the path of the lamp and the view was once again obscured.
Sinking to his knees, the Doctor turned away from the window and tapped his finger thoughtfully against his teeth.
Below him came the sound of booted feet crunching on gravel. The Doctor tensed and tucked himself under the lip of the window, looking down to see who was coming.
A Legion trooper, resplendent in his black uniform, was patrolling below. He was looking about alertly, his machine gun slung over his shoulder.
The Doctor slowed his breathing and tried to keep still.
The trooper was directly below him and, despite the darkness, had only to look up to see him.
Shifting his weight only a fraction, the Doctor knew at once that he had made a mistake. The metal gantry creaked and the trooper tensed, pulling his machine gun down to waist level and pointing it into the shadows.
He looked left, then right, the muscles on his neck standing out like whipcord. Then he looked up, his face fixed in a crazed and disturbing smile.
The Doctor seized the moment and flung himself from the catwalk. Cloak blossoming behind him, he fell like a great bat, cannoning his legs into the trooper’s chest, sending him crashing into the gravel.
Not anxious to be caught when he had found out precisely nothing, the Doctor instantly took to his heels, racing from the gravel on to the broken tarmac of the old airstrip.
The trooper rolled over and jumped athletically to his feet, machine gun poised. He was about to open fire but then seemed to think better of it, shouldered his weapon and ran after the Doctor.
Putting at least two hundred yards between himself and his pursuer, the Doctor’s immediate thought was to get back to Bessie and drive back to Culverton as quickly as possible. He had learnt nothing from his sortie except that Legion International were armed and dangerous. Jo was alone with Mrs Toovey and would be wondering where he’d got to.
However, he found himself diverting from the direct route back to the perimeter fence as soon as he saw the old hangar, looming through the darkness like the hump of a great whale.
His insatiable curiosity got the better of him and he slowed to a fast walk, casting a glance behind him to check whether he was still being followed. The clatter of the trooper’s feet on concrete told him