Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [53]
The Master was nervous. He licked his lips. ‘A long way, Doctor. Do you think we can make it?’
The Doctor’s eyes were fastened on the door of the control room.
If this was a trap, then this is where it was going to be sprung. If the Master was leading him into it, then this was where he would show his hand. He had two choices: stay put and wait for the Master to make the next move, or risk it. If he could reach the control console then he had some chance, it would give him some degree of control over what was happening to him.
He took a deep breath and started down the long corridor.
His footsteps echoed around the cavernous space.
Suddenly the console room door seemed a very long way away. The Doctor strained to hear anything unusual above the background throb of TARDIS machinery. He could hear nothing.
He quickened his pace. The Master was right behind him, his breathing quickening. The avenue was lined with elegant pillars. There was nowhere to escape to now, no way out other than that distant door.
The two Time Lords walked silently forward. The Doctor sighed as his hand dosed on the control room door. They had made it.
‘Clever, Time Lords.’ Barrock’s rasping tones made them stop. The jackal was panting heavily, sweat beading on his snout.. Normally we let our prey do all the running.’
The rest of the pack were starting to emerge from the other corridors.
The Doctor tensed, watching the Master from the corner of his eye.
‘The occasional run is very good for you. Helps the circulation.’
Barrock smiled. ‘You’re the Doctor.’
The pack surged forward. The Doctor struggled frantically with the door. It burst open and he and the Master tumbled into the control room.
‘Quickly Doctor. The console.’ The howl of the jackals echoed down the corridor. The Master slammed the door closed, pushing his shoulder against it.
The Doctor dived towards the hexagonal control console in the centre of the room. His hands danced over the complex controls.
The console gave a sharp electronic burble. The Doctor frowned. Something was wrong.
With a grating, grinding roar the central column started to rise and fall.
‘NO!’ The Doctor bellowed in horror. He struggled to arrest the dematerialisation procedure. ‘We’re on a preset sequence! I can’t override it.’
The Zzinbriizi crashed into the door.
Trasker and Ace stepped into a huge space racked with tier upon tier of seats. ‘It’s where they store the audience seating,’
explained Trasker. She nodded towards a huge metal door.
‘That’s it. Studio One,’
Ace looked cautiously across the storage bay. It was deserted. She crossed to the huge door, looking for some way of getting it open.
Trasker looked at her in amusement. She had led Ace in circles, through a maze of corridors that commissionaires were clearing seconds before she and Ace arrived.
She rubbed the tiny transmitter tucked behind her ear. A director had been in constant touch, relaying instructions from Lukos, letting her know if there were changes to the Doctor’s plans. Now she had been told that the time was right to let Ace get close, for her to be at the studio in time for her next crushing defeat.
Trasker looked over to where Ace was struggling with the door controls. Pointless. They were controlled centrally, controlled by Lukos, and he would only let her get into the studio when it suited him.
Trasker felt a twinge of guilt. The girl was bright and loyal. In many ways it was like looking at a younger version of herself. She stopped herself, angry that she was letting her concentration waver. She had been given a contract and she couldn’t allow her own feelings to get in the way. That was how she had risen to the top of her field, and that was why she was the best. Present the facts, present the truth, take whatever steps, use whatever means to ensure that the story was told.
The people who got in the way were tools, nothing more.
Tools to reach a goal, and if they got hurt along the way...
Trasker gave a grim smile. By the end of the