Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [74]
‘But not until your new body is safely tucked away inside your TARDIS.’
‘Precisely. And nothing and no one is going to get in the way of that. Something that you should remember, Doctor.’
The Master strode off, following the Zzinbriizi deeper and deeper into the vaults. The Doctor sighed. He was running out of allies, and he was running out of time.
Chapter Twenty
The tunnels of the vaults had become low and dark. The Zzinbriizi were starting to get anxious, uncomfortable in the enclosed darkness.
Barrock held up a clawed hand, stopping the pack.
Ahead of them was a low stone arch, and light. The Doctor frowned. There was a smell, musty and harsh.
Barrack waved two of his pack forward. Swiftly they vanished through the archway. The Doctor glanced at the Master. He was sniffing at the air.
Barrack’s men reappeared at the mouth of the tunnel beckoning them forward.
The Doctor felt a blaster prodding at his back and he shuffled forwards down the tunnel.
He emerged into a huge circular vault. An archway led into a second identical chamber, it in turn leading to another, and another. like the rest of the planet everything was constructed of dark rotten stone, the pipes and machinery of the Fleshsmiths were scattered everywhere. All around the walls were barred doors, pens. Inside the Doctor could see frightened animals, painfully thin, watching them with mournful eyes.
The Master pursed his lips. ‘An abattoir?’
The Doctor crossed to one of the pens. It contained dozens of animals, from dozens of different planets. He rubbed the nose of one of them. ‘None of these are indigenous to this galaxy. They must be cargo from the ships, or bred from embryos.’
‘We are the leftovers, the ones that they couldn’t use.’
The Zzinbriizi dropped into crouches at the sound of the voice, their guns raised.
The Doctor peered through the cage bars. A grizzled old man lay amongst the filth, his hair matted and dank, his eyes sunken in hollow pits.
‘How do you do. I’m the Doctor...’
Barrrock thrust him out of the way. ‘Who are you? What is this place?’
The man struggled to his feet and hobbled painfully to the bars. ‘We are the ones that the Fleshsmiths could not use for their foul surgery. The weak, the infirm, the sick.’ He gave a deep hacking cough. ‘We are kept in case they have need of a disease, or as nutrients for the ones they keep alive.’
‘They use you as food?’ The Doctor could barely keep the disgust from his voice. ‘How many of you are there?’
The man shook his head. ‘Not many.’ He gestured to huddled shapes in the dark. ‘You don’t last long down here, not long.’ He started coughing again.
The Doctor looked around for the door control. A complex set of levers was set into the wall. He crossed the chamber and reached out for it.
Barrock swiped his hand aside. ‘You are overstepping your mark, Time Lord!’
‘I am not leaving these people here to rot, Barrock!’
Barrock towered over the Doctor’s diminutive form, his lips curled back in a vicious snarl.
‘Fine.’
Barrock turned and fired into the cage.
‘No!’ The Doctor threw himself at the jackal. Barrock swiped him aside.
The Doctor dropped to the cold floor, rolling as he fell.
Barrock loomed over him, and thrust the gun into his face.
The Doctor stared defiantly up at him. ‘You will pay for that, Barrack.’
The gunshot was like a thunderbolt, a blaze of energy arcing across the chamber. Stonework exploded above the Doctor’s head. Barrock spun, his gun blazing.
The cowled shape of a Fleshsmith stood in the entrance to the chamber, an ugly stump of a weapon in his hands. As the Doctor watched, one of the Zzinbriizi was struck by a surge of energy. With a horrible guttural roar it dissolved into a mass of bubbling tissue.
Barrock bellowed in rage and fired his gun again. The Fleshsmith was torn apart in a hail of blaster fire. Barrock raced across the floor. In the next chamber more Fleshsmiths were massing. Barrock’s gun roared again and the Zzinbriizi threw themselves into the fray.
The Doctor scrambled to his feet. The cell