Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [59]
The Doctor recoiled in horror as the face of his old enemy transformed into the snarling features of a Zzinbriizi jackal.
Barrock gave a howl of triumph.
‘Take him to the Fleshsmiths!’
Commercial Break
Travelling between the solar systems can be quite a headache, and you never quite know what might be lurking within the next meteor shower.
The past century has seen an explosion in interstellar travel. Mighty ships ply the space lanes, delivering goods and passengers to the brave new frontier. The tourist industry has boomed and millions of adventurers seek passage to new horizons.
Every day thousands of millions of people travel close to the Brago nebula – mysterious and beautiful centrepiece of our galaxy. But the nebula is not without its dangers and every year over six hundred thousand of those people vanish without trace.*
Would you be happy travelling, knowing that your family might be left wanting?
Do you trust your government to protect you?
Are you confident that it’s not going to happen to you?
If you are ill at ease then let us bring a smile to your face.
We at Lukos Travel Insurance have put together a wide range of comprehensive packages that offer you and your loved ones the security that you need.
Cancellation Cover.
Medical Insurance.
Life cover in the event of your death or mysterious disappearance. **
Whether you plan a quick cruise round your home system, or a cryogenically assisted grand tour of the galaxy, give LTI a call.
We want your life in our hands.
*Estimated figure.
**Subject to genetic vetting and credit check.
Part Three
Chapter Sixteen
The planet Scrantek hung in the wastes of the Brago Nebula, black and ugly, like an inkblot on a masterpiece. Ion storms raged in the vacuum of space, lighting up the tendrils of gas that writhed around the planet.
The surface of Scrantek was barren and grey, clouds of choking ash blown by the constant winds, the colours of the nebula muted by the heavy clouds. The crackling storms were just distant flares in the brooding sky, lighting up the crumbling remains of buildings that dotted the bleak landscape. It was if a thousand cathedrals had been set down here and left to rot.
Amongst the scabrous pillars the air began to shimmer and blur, and a groaning, grinding noise added its voice to the winds. From the twisted tower of one of the buildings, the Fleshsmiths watched the silver cube that was the Master’s TARDIS materialise.
‘So, Barrock was to be trusted after all.’
‘The pain that we torment him with is a useful control.’
‘And now, Surgeon General?’
‘Now we become immortal.’
The surgeon general turned from the window. ‘Come. We will greet the Time Lord.’
The Doctor stepped from the TARDIS, shielding his face from the grit and ash driven by the howling wind. He stared about him. The light flickered and danced overhead, casting huge dancing shadows across the ash-covered surface of a courtyard. Above the wind he thought he could hear screams.
He sniffed at the air. Thin, dank and oily.
‘Not the most hospitable of planets.’
Barrock snarled at him. The Zzinbriizi were skittish, their breathing harsh and laboured.
Ahead of them a door opened and light spilled out into the courtyard. A sharp claw was thrust into the small of the Doctor’s back.
‘Move.’
Wearily the Doctor began to cross the wind-ravaged courtyard, the Zzinbriizi like some macabre guard of honour.
He was tired and confused, drained by deception upon deception. That this was a trap was obvious now, but there were so many pieces of the puzzle that he hadn’t even begun to guess at. The scheme unfolding around him was complex and frightening and he was running out of time to find out what it was all about.
Scrantek was not a planet that he wished to be trapped on.
The legends of the Fleshsmiths told of a vicious, mysterious race, the stuff of nightmares. Even the Time lords avoided them. And somewhere there had to be the Master, the real Master – assuming that the Fleshsmiths