Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [66]
‘Yes Doctor, somewhere. But telling you where would spoil the fun.’
‘But they can’t destroy us, you still need us.’ The Master was pacing the arena now, growing stronger With every moment, stronger and more dangerous.
‘Oh they can’t destroy the Doctor – Barrock has his instructions – but there are no such restrictions about you.’
‘And if I kill the Doctor?’ The Doctor was aware of the Master scrutinising him. He had no doubt that if his old adversary thought that he could bargain for his own life by killing him then he would. He tensed himself to run.
‘That would be most unwise. You and the Doctor merely have to keep the game going, drawing our audience in. If you co-operate, you may leave when the Doctor is in our DNA sequencer.’
‘With nothing more than a pat on the back for being a good sport?’ the Doctor asked. ‘Who are you trying to kid?’
‘The two of you should prove most interesting allies. The transmission is about to begin. I believe the expression is
“break a leg”.’
The Master swung round and stared the Doctor in the face.
‘So, my dear Doctor, it would appear that we are to work together again, at least for the moment.’
‘Listen to me!’ The Doctor was desperate. ‘We are being used, pawns in some evil game. If we can use our brains, use our abilities, then we have a chance, but if I have to keep looking over my shoulder every moment, wondering if you are about to betray me—’
‘Transmission in five.’ The speakers boomed again.
‘Work with me, not against me.’
‘Four.’
‘Think about the billions that will die if we don’t stop them.’
‘Three.’
‘Tell me that for once in my life I can trust you.’
‘Two.’
The Doctor held out his hand. ‘Please.’
‘One. On the air.’
The Master reached out. As he did so the howl of a Zzinbriizi echoed from down one of the tunnels. The two Time Lords span round.
‘I think we should get out of here, Doctor.’ The Master was peering into the gloom of the tunnel mouth. ‘This way, I think.’
He vanished into the tunnel. The Doctor stared after him his hand still outstretched. ‘Would you stake your life on it?’
Taking a deep breath he followed the Master into the darkness.
Vogol Lukos punched his desk in irritation.
‘Damn those scabrous rotting amateurs. No dramatic timing. They should have released the Time Lords into the arena after the start of transmission, not before. I mean what sort of opening shot is that? Backs to camera, no close-ups.’
He shook his head in disgust. ‘No one takes any pride in their work any more.’
Saarl was slumped on a couch, wiping the make-up from his face. ‘I’m surprised you gave them any control at all, Vogol. Not your style at all.’
Lukos gave a sly smile. ‘They have less control than you think, my dear. I’m not one who tends to leave too much to chance. Bad for the business, you know.’
‘Then what are you up to? Tell me.’
Lukos leant back in his chair, looking thoughtfully at the bulky shape of his chief interviewer sprawled on the couch.
‘All right, my dear, I’ll tell you.’
He reached for his wine glass.
‘Auntie, are our power surge predictions on target?’
+POWER DRAIN FROM GALACTIC GRID
INDICATES IIDIENCE STILL BUILDING+
‘When are we expecting maximum?’
+RATINGS COMPUTERS CALCULATE THAT
NNOUNCEMENT OF THE DOCTOR’S IMMINENT
DEMISE WILL ATTRACT MAXIMUM POTENTIAL+
Saarl raised an eyebrow. ‘Demise? Don’t tell me you re going to kill off your new star so soon?’
‘A dead star is always good for the ratings, my dear. I’m expecting the viewing figures for your funeral to go through the roof.’
Saarl choked on his drink. Laughing, Lukos crossed to the sofa and sat beside him, patting a podgy knee.
‘Not that I expect it to happen in the near future, dear boy, but it is always nice to have a contingency plan.’
He settled back, his eyes raised to the ceiling, sipping at his drink.
‘Our mysterious allies are a morbid little race by the name of the Fleshsmiths. A dying breed, tucked out of sight of the viewing public in the treacherous wastes of the Brago nebula.’