Doctor Who_ Lungbarrow - Marc Platt [82]
That irritating habit of answering with questions. 'Who reactivated you?'
'My pupil?'
Masters, pupils. Wasn't the Academy good enough? No wonder the Doctor was such a scapegrace when Quences had spoilt him so. 'You should never have been packed away in storage,' she told the offending mechanised tutor.
'Are there tasks for me?'
'Certainly not!' No need to wait and ask Quences what to do. 'Take it apart,' she said to the Drudge and the servant reached for the avatroid's override port.
A shaggy arm slashed across. The machine bel owed with a program of rage. It caught hold of the Drudge and the two grappled together, careering dangerously near the old woman.
Her chair scuttled back carrying her out of reach.
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She screamed for her other servant and lashed out with her cane.
The Drudge was squarely matched by the avatroid, but the brute lowered its head and butted at its wooden adversary with its curled horns.
As the Drudge skittered backward, the avatroid scooped it off the floor and swung it round. Its head col ided with a wardrobe and sheared off at the neck.
The machine brute threw the headless Drudge to the ground. Then it lumbered away out of the room. The door slammed behind it.
'Get up! Get up!' shouted Satthralope.
The damaged wardrobe was shivering in the corner. The Drudge was crawling round the floor, trying to find its head. The splintered object had rolled under a table, and was emitting a creaking snarl of rage.
'Christopher?'
Chris peered drowsily at the Doctor. He was smiling gently from the end of the improvised table-bed. 'I'm sorry about the dreams. You know what it's like.'
Innocet was beside the Doctor. She raised her eyes to whatever the Gallifreyan equivalent of heaven was.
'Is there anything to eat?' Chris asked.
The Doctor fumbled in his pockets. His arm went deeper than the clothes could possibly allow. He produced an over ripe banana, an individual pack of broken water biscuits, two Japanese rice cakes and a white dove, the last of which he hurriedly stuffed back.
Chris took a rice cake. 'Thanks, Snail.'
The Doctor cringed, but Chris nodded towards Innocet. The Doctor suddenly understood and passed the rest to his Cousin. She looked at the food with reverence, almost afraid to eat something so precious.
'Peel the banana first,' he said, indicating which one it was.
Chris pul ed off some fluff and munched the rice cake. It was surprisingly fresh. 'What about the dreams?' he said.
'Ah. Yes, well.' The Doctor looked flustered. He crossed to the door and listened for a moment. Then he straightened a mirror that had been turned to the wall. 'You see Chris, what's been happening… Um, well, it's the TARDIS, you see.'
'Yeah?'
'Well, my head really. Only it's been getting so full lately. People to see...'
'Plots to unravel.'
'Yes, you know the sort of thing. But even my brain has a limited capacity.'
'Unlike your pockets.'
'Yes, you know I think I might have a hole. I seem to be losing things...'
'Your head is full,' Chris reminded him.
'Um, yes. So to compensate, the TARDIS may be sideshunting a few of my subconscious thoughts into the nearest available database.'
'Meaning me?'
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'Um, yeee-esss. It was only trying to be helpful. It hates losing information. So it augmented you as a receptor.'
'Sneaky,' said Chris. He picked at a small cut that prickled on his arm, unsure where it had happened. 'I suppose I'm meant to feel honoured.'
The Doctor was tying slow knots with his fingers. 'Unfortunately, I'd had a few thoughts about this place lately. Just passing thoughts. You asked me about families once... And I'd been dwelling on the implications of my own mortality.'
'So you think that I laid in the coordinates to get us here.'
'Entirely influenced by my subconscious, Chris. Not your fault at all.'
The young man rubbed the back of neck. 'Anything else?'
'Well, yes. That interference by the TARDIS