Doctor Who_ Match of the Day - Chris Boucher [9]
‘I’m looking for an orange jelly baby,’ the Doctor said, shaking the bag and poking around in it.
From somewhere high up in the dome there was an electronic crackle and then a disembodied voice boomed over the public address system, ‘What are you doing Jarvis?’
‘I’m declaring a spot challenge,’ the security man announced to the air. ‘Right here, right now.’
All round the arena fence tiny slots opened at regular intervals and small jewel-bright lenses extended slightly then retracted flush with the wooden surface. There were several hundred of them glittering in the sunlight like the dead irises of hidden glass eyes.
‘In the arena?’ the voice demanded. ‘Are you mad?’
‘It’s a legal challenge,’ the security man said, though he sounded defiant rather than certain. ‘I name and claim the ground.’
‘The arena?’ The voice was incredulous, almost amused.
‘You can’t fight in the arena, man. You haven’t earned it. Are you professionally ranked, I don’t think so. Are there any memorable kills in your reel, not that I’ve noticed. Has the arena just been cleansed, I do believe it has.’
‘This man has broken in and defiled it.’ The security man took another step backwards still watching the Doctor’s face and loosened the handgun in its holster.
‘You could be letting this whole defilement-contamination thing get out of hand, you know,’ the Doctor said. ‘Remember today’s habits and rituals are tomorrow’s obsessive compulsive disorders. I can’t remember who told me that. I don’t think it was Freud. One of the religious leaders perhaps. But which one, they all benefit from it after all...’
But the security man was not to be distracted or deflected.
‘He’s in violation.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a jelly baby?’ The Doctor proffered the bag. ‘There are no orange ones left, I’m afraid, but I can recommend the green ones.’
‘Nobody move!’ the voice on the PA ordered. ‘I’m coming to sort this out.’
‘Do you accept the challenge?’ the security man asked quietly.
The Doctor selected a green jelly baby and put the bag back into his coat pocket. ‘Aren’t we supposed to wait?’ he said, chewing appreciatively.
‘There’s no reason to wait,’ the security man urged. ‘The systems are recording. All the legalities are in place. You must fight me. You have no choice.’
The Doctor smiled and stuck both hands into his trouser pockets. ‘There’s always a choice.’
Once again the security man loosened the handgun in its holster. ‘You must fight me,’ he repeated. ‘You have no choice.’
‘Yes he has,’ Leela said, stepping between them.
‘A chancer,’ the security man sneered triumphantly. ‘Two kills should rank me.’ And he pulled the gun.
Leela ducked inside the arc of the draw and, before the security man could bring the gun to bear, she kneed him hard in the groin. He grunted and as he bent slightly with the pain she straightened up and hit the bottom of his jaw with the top of her head. His teeth clashed together and he began to tip backwards. She grabbed the wrist of his gun hand and pivoted, twisting the arm against the weight of his fall. His elbow cracked stickily and he let go of the gun. He fell heavily with the broken arm underneath him and lay sobbing with pain. ‘You wanted to fight,’ Leela said. She picked up the gun and threw it across the arena. ‘The Doctor tried to persuade you not to.’ She put her foot on the security man’s throat, drew her knife and reached down with it so that the tip of the blade rested on the bridge of his nose. ‘You should be more friendly.’
‘That’s enough, Leela,’ the Doctor said, pulling her away.
‘The man’s hurt. You’ve hurt him enough.’
The security man lay silent now, his eyes closed, his face screwed up against the pain. He seemed to be waiting for something to happen.
Leela sheathed the knife. ‘I was not going to kill him,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘He was going to kill you though.’
‘A bit aggressive,’ the Doctor agreed, ‘even by the standards of your average security guard.’ The man’s eyes were still tight shut and he was still not moving or making a sound.
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