Doctor Who_ Prime Time - Mike Tucker [88]
The Doctor closed the album, staring into her eyes. ‘It wasn’t real, Ace. An illusion created by Lukos, a trick for the audience.’
Ace stared back a him, uncertainty in her eyes. ‘You can’t know that, Professor. You can’t know everything.’
The Doctor looked hurt. ‘I thought I did! Are you telling me I’m not perfect?’
Ace smiled. ‘You’ll do.’
‘The people at Channel 400 were evil, manipulating the truth for their own ends. Just because you’ve seen something on a screen doesn’t mean that it’s true.’
‘If you say so, Professor.’
The Doctor tapped the tip of her nose. ‘Trust me.’
Annie Halfrace groaned as the noise of another argument drifted from the bar. She looked up from her accounts. One of her barmaids was struggling to dissuade another drunken lout from having another drink.
She could see from here that the man had had enough. He could barely keep himself upright. Annie closed her ledger with a sigh. They didn’t need this. Not now. Since the television station had been off the air, business had been booming. It looked like being her most profitable month yet.
She slid from the booth and pushed her way through the jumble of drinkers.
‘How dare you refuse to sherve me?’ The man was getting angry now. Annie grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.
‘Is there a problem here?’
‘There shertainy ish.’ The man tried to pull himself upright, leaning unsteadily on the bar. ‘Thish young lady refushes to give me a drink.’
He tried to focus on Annie, his head weaving.
Annie glanced over at the bar. A dozen empty glasses stood on the counter.
‘Foamasi brandy?’
The barmaid nodded.
Annie turned back to the drunk. ‘Then I think you’ve had enough. Out.’
The man swiped at her with a huge hand. ‘How dare you.
Do you know who I am?’
‘I don’t give a toss.’ Annie nodded at her bouncer. The huge Ogron lumbered over, picking up the drunk by the collar.
He kicked out feebly. ‘But I’m important I tell you,’ he slurred. ‘I’m Roderik Shaarl.’
‘Yeah, and I’m the empress of Draconia.’ Annie shook her head and went back to her paperwork. ‘Throw him out, Baz.’
The Ogron hoisted Saarl into the air and carried him to the door.
Commissionaire Briggs looked up from his bar meal and stared after him. ‘You know, he did look kind of familiar.’
Rickett patted his arm. ‘Don’t believe a word of it, sunshine. In this town everyone thinks they’re a television star.’
Outside in the gutter Saarl struggled to get back on to his feet.
A gust of wind swirled newspapers around him. He looked down. An advertisement loomed from one of the pages.
‘The show of the century! Catch Roderick Saarl tonight and every night, live from Blinni-Gaar, only on Channel 400!’
Saarl looked at it solemnly for a moment, then slumped back into the gutter and began to laugh and laugh and laugh.
Tag Scene
The fog that carpeted the graveyard coiled around the base of the TARDIS. An owl hooted mournfully.
As if in reply the TARDIS began to groan and wheeze, the flashing light on its roof sending long shadows dancing through the gravestones. The fog swirled and boiled as the dark-blue shape of the police box began to fade into insubstantiality. In seconds it was gone and silence and darkness settled over the graveyard once more.
Inside the TARDIS the Doctor’s hands flitted over the myriad tiny controls. He was caked in mud, and a filthy trail was splattered across the floor.
The Doctor pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his hands, then shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. The shovel was leaning against the hat stand. The Doctor picked it up then crossed to the interior door.
The corridors of the time machine were dim, the hum of complex machinery nothing but a soft background murmur.
The TARDIS equivalent of night. The Doctor padded softly over to the door of Ace’s room and eased it open, peering into the darkened room. Ace was curled up in her bed, her face calm, her breathing slow and measured. The Doctor smiled.
She was exhausted. He would let her sleep late. After all they had been through they both deserved a rest.