Doctor Who_ Storm Harvest - Mike Tucker [74]
And to collect some property of ours.’
‘Property?’ The Doctor appeared at Brenda’s side. ‘What might that be, General?’
Mottrack’s smile faded. ‘I’m afraid that is a classified military matter, Mr...?’
‘Doctor.’ The Doctor raised his hat.
‘Ah.’ Mottrack bared his teeth again. ‘The investigator from InterOceanic.’
The Doctor raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t realise I was so well known.’
‘We have our sources, Doctor.’
‘Gentlemen!’ Brenda’s voice cut across them. ‘In less than two hours a major hurricane is going to hit this island. At the moment we have no way of tracking it and a major hole in our defence grid. So if we can cut the pleasantries...’
Mottrack nodded, curtly. ‘Of course. If you will show Commander Bisoncawl where he can set up a command position, I will talk with your chief engineer about the problems with the defence grid.’
Brenda gave the Doctor a sideways glance.
‘I’m afraid that our engineer is unavailable, General. The Doctor will give you any information that you require.’
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Mottrack’s smile vanished completely. ‘What do you mean by
“unavailable”, Co-ordinator?’
‘We are currently... unaware of his whereabouts, General.’
‘He’s having a bit of an identity crisis,’ quipped the Doctor. ‘Popped off into the jungle for a few days. Soon be back to his old self, I’m sure.’
Mottrack loomed over the little Time Lord, his eyes blazing.
‘General.’ Bisoncawl was at his commander’s shoulder. ‘Once our forward command position has been established then perhaps we can...
assist in the search for this engineer.’
Mottrack kept his eyes fixed on the Doctor. ‘Sound advice, Commander. As always.’
He turned on his heel. ‘I will be in the command shuttle. Let me know when you are ready’ The huge bulk of the Cythosi general lumbered back into the hull of the shuttlecraft.
Bisoncawl turned to Brenda. ‘If you can show me a site, Miss Mulholland, then I can install my equipment and get my troops to start assisting you with the reconstruction of your defence grid.’
Brenda nodded. ‘This way, Commander.’
The Cythosi commander barked a guttural set of orders back into the ship. With a high whine, boxes began to materialise on the shuttle transmat pad. Dozens of armoured troopers clumped down the ramp, each of them hoisting equipment into their arms.
The crowd parted as Brenda Mulholland set off towards the administration block, the Cythosi lumbering in her wake.
The Doctor watched them go, his expression unreadable. Q’ilp clattered to his side, and blew out a cloud of smoke. ‘So, Doctor, what do you make of it all? They seem polite enough.’
‘Yes, don’t they? I think we’re in very, very deep trouble.
Inside the Cythosi shuttlecraft, Mottrack watched the Doctor on a monitor. He punched at a control and the picture zoomed in until the Doctor’s face filled the screen.
Mottrack’s lips curled back in a snarl as he watched the little man and his dolphin companion walk through the crowds. He ground his claws on the arm of his chair.
‘Take care, Doctor,’ he muttered. ‘You will find that I am not someone who deals well with imbeciles.’
He snapped off the monitor and punched at the communications relay.
‘Mottrack to base ship.’
‘Yes, General.’
‘I want a complete sensor sweep of the planet’s surface – spiral pattern, starting at this shuttle. I want location of life forms and any 143
residual traces of that energy signature.’
There was too long a pause from the communicator.
‘Well...?’ Mottrack’s voice had dropped to a low growl. Even over the communicator he could detect his sensor officer’s fear.
‘We still have only partial sensor systems online, General. The energy wave from the planet...’
‘I don’t want excuses!’ Mottrack’s roar echoed around the shuttle. ‘I want full sensor data back online within the hour.’
He snapped off the communicator and thrust himself back in his seat, trying to control his rising rage. It was at times like this that he needed a good interrogation session. He cast a glance around the silent control cabin. Technicians busied themselves at their tasks, desperate