Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [72]
The Doctor started to back away but the Master stood his ground, unphased by their approach.
The Doctor looked at him in alarm. ‘Is this it, then? Is this the point where you throw me to the wolves?’
The Master said nothing, just continued to dab at his bloodstained mouth.
The Doctor’s face darkened. ‘We haven’t got time for these games. It is only a matter of minutes before someone realises what we have done. We have to get out of here before then.’
He turned towards the approaching jackals, his voice low and hypnotic. ‘Barrock, listen to me. You’ve been given a modicum of intelligence, so listen.’
The rest of the Zzinbriizi were priming their guns. The whine of power packs filled the cavern.
‘You are just a tool, an assassin! The Fleshsmiths are never going to let you out of here alive.’
‘Oh, I know that, Doctor. But the Fleshsmiths are no longer of any consequence.’
The Doctor nodded at the blasters the Zzinbriizi were holding. ‘Hardly your style, are they? A little impersonal for you, I would have thought.’
Barrock nodded. ‘Oh, I agree, Doctor. Guns are no substitute for the claw. Efficient, yes, but lacking in that personal touch.’ He raised his weapon, pointing it at the Doctor’s head. ‘But for raw power they are difficult to beat.’
He swung the blaster towards the cavern wall and nodded at his pack. There was a shattering roar as their guns blazed.
The Doctor clamped his hands over his ears.
Rock shattered, filling the cavern with choking smoke.
The guns roared again.
The noise of gunfire faded. The Doctor crossed to Barrack.
‘You’re not playing by the Fleshsmiths’ rules are you? You have ideas of your own.’
Barrock’s lips curled back in a toothy smile. ‘We have a far richer paymaster, now. I have ambitions Doctor, and you are lucky that at the moment I still need you alive.’
‘So who are you working for, I wonder?’ The Doctor rubbed his chin. ‘Channel 400? Have they offered you a show of your own? You really ought to get yourself a decent agent before you enter into any negotiations, you know...’
‘Will you stop your endless prattling!’ The Master pushed him out of the way. ‘We must get to my TARDIS.’
Barrock pushed the muzzle of his gun into the Master’s face. ‘All in good time. There are deals that we need to strike first.’ The jackal pointed at the side of his skull. ‘In here is a transmitter, a camera implanted by the Fleshsmiths. I want it removed. It takes a lot of effort to stop revealing our every move.’
The Doctor peered around the Master’s shoulder. ‘I thought they had a device that kept you under their control.’
Barrock held up a small surgical instrument. ‘And Vogol Lukos provided me with the means of removing it.’
‘Ah! Far better than a talk show contract.’ The Doctor reached out. ‘I don’t suppose I could borrow that for a moment?’
Barrock closed a clawed hand around the instrument. ‘No, Doctor, not yet. You are our means of getting off this planet, and it is useful to have a hold over you.’
‘We are wasting time,’ said the Master impatiently. ‘We should get out of here.’
‘Agreed.’ Barrock turned to his pack. ‘Spread out. Kill anyone who gets in your way.’
The Zzinbriizi vanished through the gaping hole in the cavern wall.
The Doctor stepped through the hole into cool darkness.
Ahead the foundations of the Fleshsmiths’ Citadel stretched into the distance, vast stone arches dark and wet, the background throb of the distant machinery like a heartbeat.
He looked back at the cavern from which they had just escaped. It was a vast tower of scaffolding and timber, a stage set constructed amidst the vaults, its top lost amongst the coiling stonework.
He shook his head. The lengths that the Fleshsmiths and their allies had gone to were phenomenal. The trap had been perfect. A mystery to solve, ferocious monsters, an old enemy.
He glanced over at the Master, who was studying his new surroundings through slitted eyes. The Doctor wondered if the Fleshsmiths