Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [78]
Staring incredulously at her friend, Gatti followed Ace into the office.
It was dark and empty. Papers swirled around the office, lifted from the vast desk by the wind. A huge holographic monitor hung in the middle of the room with Saarl’s exposé of the TARDIS still playing out on it. Ace crossed to the desk, her eyes scanning the complex controls. ‘One of these has got to be a communicator of some kind. Lukos has got to be in touch with those creatures that have got the Doctor.’
‘Bravo, my dear, bravo.’
Ace and Gatti spun round. The lights snapped on.
Lukos was ambling towards them, his podgy hands clapping. ‘You really are far more resourceful that I gave you credit for.’
‘You bastard.’ Ace started across the office towards him.
‘Oh, no, no, no.’ Lukos waggled a finger at her. ‘You’ve got this far, it would be a shame to get a bullet in you now.’
Trasker stepped from the shadows, her gun levelled at Ace’s head.
Chapter Twenty-One
Commissionaire Reg Gurney slumped into the chair in his security office in despair. He’d been made a fool of, humiliated in front of his own men. Already he’d begun to see the smirks on the faces of the others, hear the whispers. His chain of command was ruined, his authority undermined.
Breame hadn’t helped. Stupid old fool. Reg knew that it had been a mistake keeping him on, letting him flaunt the regulations like that. His cellar office was a fire hazard and a security risk. They should have made him toe the line.
He gave a snort of disgust and let his tape gun clatter to the floor. What would the members of his old regiment think?
A stupid old man, playing at soldiers, outmanoeuvred by a mere girl. He stared at his reflection in the window. He was old. Too old to keep pretending any more. Desperately trying to keep the memories alive, desperately trying to convince the world that he was still useful, that he still had a part to play.
The scream cut across the night air, piercing and shrill.
Gurney was on his feet in a moment. He punched at the intercom.
‘Briggs! What’s going on man? Answer me!’
He peered at the security camera. The commissionaire was struggling with a figure at the main gate. It was dark and difficult to make out what was happening. There was something wrong with the figure, something wrong with its face.
Briggs tore himself free and started to run. Gurney stared after him in disbelief. Deserting his post!
The figure turned and roared into the camera. Gurney recoiled in horror.
The creature started to shamble across the forecourt and Gurney snatched up his gun, his heart pounding.
This was it. After all these years he had a real crisis to deal with, a real danger. For too long he’d had to put up with abusive teenagers, unco-operative staff members. Now he had an invader, an alien that he could deal with in the way he had been trained.
He punched at a seldom-used control and the low drone of sirens filled the night air. He bellowed into the communicator.
‘All commissionaires, report to the main gate immediately! I say again main gate immediately!’
Pulling on his cap, he flung open the door of his security booth. He could see his men, floundering and leaderless. He smiled. They couldn’t cope. Didn’t know how to deal with a real crisis. He would show them.
He started off across the tarmac, ducking out of the beams of the spotlights that lit up the towering studio complex.
He tucked the tape gun under his shoulder, squinting along the sight. The world started to fade around him. Suddenly he wasn’t a head of security on a civilised world. He was Sergeant Reg Gurney of the Colonial Marines, in hostile surroundings, his platoon waiting for him, relying on him.
He narrowed his eyes. The creature showed no sign of having seen him. It was still making for the main doors. He signalled to his troops. Spread out, surround it. He started to creep forward. That was the art of jungle warfare. Keep to the shadows, use your camouflage, keep your enemy guessing.
He rolled through a cluster of shrubs and hurled himself to the ground, edging