Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [28]
Ace shook her head. ‘What the hell are they doing here?’
The Doctor looked at her, his head cocked on one side.
‘Ace?’
‘I told you, Professor, they’re obsessed with you. What I didn’t know was that they were a camera crew!’
Having satisfied the manager, Greg crossed the restaurant.
Ace glowered at him. Greg held up his hands, trying to placate her.
‘Look, Ace, I’m sorry, OK, but this is going to bail me and Eeji out of a lot of trouble.’
‘Yeah, right. I should have known better, shouldn’t I?’
Greg looked hurt. There was an awkward silence. The Doctor suddenly coughed.
‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’
Greg reached forward, and shook the Doctor’s hand. ‘I’m Greg Ashby. The miserable blue one is Eeji Tek. We’re part of a small independent unit providing programmes for a number of networks. We, ah... We were wondering if you would mind if we recorded a quick interview with you.’
The Doctor blinked. ‘With me?’
‘Yeah, we’ve got a transmission slot on a late-night chat show coming up in about...’ Greg looked at his watch,‘twenty cycles. If you don’t have any objections...’
The Doctor beamed. ‘I’d be delighted.’
Ace’s jaw dropped in astonishment.
Greg adjusted a microphone on the Doctor’s lapel. ‘Right, Doc. We’ve got enough for the archive, now’s the fun bit.’
Suddenly the Monteekan held up a bony finger. ‘Ashby.
Ready for us, they are. Transmission in twelve.’
The Doctor brushed at his hair, peering worriedly at Ace.
‘How’s my hair?’
Ace suppressed a smirk. ‘You look fine, Professor.’
Greg settled into the chair opposite the Doctor. ‘Just relax.’
He peered over at Eeji Tek. The mournful alien gave him a nod. ‘Live in five, four, three, two...’
His hand swung down, and Greg launched into a well-rehearsed patter.
The next few minutes were some of the most embarrassing that Ace had ever endured. Far from being reticent about talking about his past, the Doctor seemed to revel in it.
He talked about Iceworld, Coralee, Daleks, time paradoxes, he juggled, he did magic tricks. The entire restaurant was completely captivated by the little Time Lord, Eeji Tek recording every move, every word.
The Doctor suddenly reached into his pocket. ‘Of course it’s not all just about saving the universe,’ he said. ‘I am quite musical.’
Ace buried her head in her hands.
‘Oh, no.’
Vogol Lukos lay back in his chair, eyes closed, as the sounds of the Blinnati Opera wafted around him. He wasn’t listening to the music, he was lost. Lost in dreams of different worlds and times, lost in dreams of every award that had ever been thought of lining the shelves in his office.
His fantasies were abruptly interrupted by the harsh shriek of his communicator.
‘Yes?’
‘Vogol, it’s Roderik.’
‘What is it, Saarl? Shouldn’t you be in bed?’
The door hissed open. ‘I think you should see this, Vogol.’
Saarl crossed to the desk and activated the holoscreen.
‘This started about ten minutes ago.’
On the screen the diminutive figure of the Doctor was talking animatedly to an unseen interviewer and playing a clattering tune on a set of spoons. Lukos dragged himself from his chair, his eyes widening. His voice was barely more than a whisper.
‘Who?’
‘An independent crew, transmitting through the IntraVenus network.’
Lukos began to shake with rage. ‘Auntie!’
+YES MR LUKOS+
‘Trace transmission! Jam them! At once!’
+YES MR LUKOS+
‘He’s not very good, is he? Lacks star quality.’ Saarl was peering at the screen. Lukos rounded on him, his eyes blazing.
‘Arrogant upstarts! How did this happen?’
Saarl shrugged. ‘Our transmission monitors picked it out. I happened to be in the newsroom, thought you would want to see.’
He scrutinised the screen again. ‘Are you really going to let him go on in that costume? I mean, a question-mark pullover...’
‘Saarl!’ Lukos’s fist was raised. Saarl scurried backwards, tripping over furniture. ‘Christ, Vogol...’
He stared at the quivering shape of his employer. Lukos was staring at the screen, his teeth grinding, breath hissing from his nose.
‘Auntie! Stop that transmission!