Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [15]
The figure spoke into the communicator again.
‘Barrock! Follow him. Report where he goes, report to me.
Do you understand?’
There was a guttural snarl from the speaker.
The figure hissed in irritation. ‘We have given you speech.
Make use of it!’
‘I will report to you.’ The voice was gruff, and rasping.
‘But my pack wants to kill. It is hard not to kill.’
‘You will not kill!’ A sense of near panic filled the dank control room. ‘Give your men sport where you will, but the Doctor and his companion must not be harmed. There will be great pain if you fail us, Barrock!’
‘No!’ There was fear in the rasping voice now. ‘No pain. I will obey you. No pain.’
‘Then do as you have been instructed.’
The picture faded from the holosphere, and the two figures shambled into the dank shadows of their ship.
The Doctor walked away from the gates of the Channel 400
building with a frown playing across his forehead. He had been foolish. There was something going on inside, of that he was sure, and it might be wise to play things a little more carefully from now on. The readings that he was getting from his pocket watch were very disturbing.
A gust of wind swirled the rain around him. He pulled his jacket tight. He should have brought his duffel coat. It was getting dark, and cold, and Ace would be getting bored. Ahead of him the road was filling up with traffic. He would get a cab back to the City centre and sort out somewhere for them to stay. Ordinarily he would have moved the TARDIS a little closer but there was something nagging at the back of his mind, some feeling that the TARDIS would be better left concealed in the cornfields for the moment.
He leant back and stared up at the storm clouds. Through tiny breaks in the greyness the moon gleamed. Tomorrow he would return to the TARDIS and take a look at the moon.
A snap of branches made him start. The woods bordering the road were not large, but the darkening sky had turned them into a maze of shadows. The Doctor squinted into the darkness.
‘Hello?’
He stopped, listening. There was nothing. Shrugging, he turned back to the road. There was another noise, a rustling of leaves and a low throaty rumble.
The Doctor looked around, his brow furrowing. He scanned the trees again. For a moment he almost set off to investigate, then stopped.
‘Wandering through a dark woodland, with the light going and nothing but an umbrella for protection,’ he murmured.
‘What are you thinking of, Doctor?’
Turning his umbrella into the wind, he trotted back to the road and began waving frantically at the cabs that sped past.
In the depths of the forest Barrock had his claws at the throat of one of his pack. Six of the Zzinbriizi lurked in the dripping undergrowth, six pairs of eyes fixed firmly on the Doctor, six jackal-like noses sniffing at the air.
Barrock released his grip and the pack member struggled to his feet.
‘That was an easy kill, Barrock’
‘He is not to be touched, Kreeth, not until they say!’
‘Everything is when they say. You are meant to be leader.’
Barrock swiped out with his huge claws and the other Zzinbriizi crashed to the ground, blood dripping from cuts across his face.
‘Then do as I say!’ Barrock snarled.
He leant close. ‘When you disobey them, I suffer. I will not suffer without reason. Remember that Kreeth, or I will kill you.’
Kreeth rubbed the blood from his snout and hauled himself to his feet, fangs bared, then sloped off into the trees licking his wounds.
Barrock stared after the diminutive shape of the Doctor by the road. His pack was getting restless. They were Zzinbriizi.
They were used to the plains and deserts, to the hunt, not this lurking and watching. Not without the kill.
He rubbed at the camera implant in his temple. It hurt.
Everything hurt. Ever since they had changed them – given them bigger brains, given them guns.
Barrock hefted the weapon in his hands. At least the guns helped them kill... but they were no match for claw, or tooth.
The rest of the Zzinbriizi shuffled uneasily behind him.
His pack was