Doctor Who_ The King of Terror - Keith Topping [95]
Dan, meanwhile, was down on one knee, his gun pointing directly at the youth. ‘Stop right there,’ he ordered. ‘Not another step, pal. Or you go down.’
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Chapter Twenty
Screen Kiss
Michelle Stonebringer led the Doctor and the Brigadier into Sanger’s elegant boardroom. Sanger sat at the far end of the enormous table with Joyce, Elphistone and Bois. They were idly chatting amongst themselves and for several seconds none of the men even acknowledged the arrival of their guests, an act of casual arrogance that made the Brigadier wish he could just shoot the lot of them here and now.
That would be proactive. He felt certain that the Doctor would approve.
The Doctor, meanwhile, seemed preoccupied and unwilling to take the lead.
Thankfully, Lethbridge-Stewart had never been hampered by such inhibitions.
‘Now look here,’ he said loudly. The four members of the conglomerate turned towards him, slowly. There was something in the precise and simultaneous movement of the men that made Lethbridge-Stewart think of The Midwich Cuckoos.
That, and the soft, eerie light that bathed the room in a warming, translucent glow, brought the encounter to the edge of ‘sinister’ before it had even started.
‘You must be from UNIT?’ asked the person Lethbridge-Stewart recognised as Paolo Sanger. ‘Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart I presume. And you are . . . ?’
he asked looking at the Doctor with a detached curiosity.
‘Me? I’m just a traveller,’ replied the Doctor.
‘And do you have a name, traveller?’
asked Theydon Bois, seemingly
amused by the introverted man in the decidedly odd clothes who was standing in front of them.
‘I’m known as the Doctor.’
‘Is someone ill?’ asked Bois and was rewarded by a chorus of sycophantic laughter from his colleagues.
Lethbridge-Stewart, however, was not to be sidetracked by such nonsense.
‘Now listen here, you men,’ he barked. ‘We know who you are, and we know what you’re up to, so you can just jolly well put a stop to it, right now.’ He glanced across at the Doctor for support. The Time Lord was smiling, seemingly encouraging the Brigadier to continue. ‘That’s about it really,’
Lethbridge-Stewart concluded. ‘All I have to say, anyway.’
183
Sanger’s expression was pitched at the centre of an equilateral triangle that had bemusement, mockery and intrigue on its sides. ‘You appear to have us at a slight disadvantage.’ he said, after a few knowing looks had passed between himself and his colleagues.
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning,’ replied Elphistone, the well-spoken Englishman, ‘that we have not the slightest idea what you’re babbling on about, old chap.’
‘Ah. I see.’ Lethbridge-Stewart bristled with embarrassment. ‘Yes, I concede I could have phrased that slightly better. A bit out of practice with you aliens do you see? I’m sorry if “alien” isn’t the correct term these days . . . ’
Sanger drummed the tabletop with his fingers in irritation. ‘It’s marginally racist,’ he said pointedly. ‘But we accept it.’
‘There’s no reason for you not to,’ interjected the Doctor, ‘since the Jex’s plans for this world probably don’t include you skulking in the shadows for too much longer. Isn’t that so?’
Suddenly, the conglomerate became very impressed. ‘Once again, you have us at a disadvantage,’ said Joyce. ‘Though I don’t expect you will live long enough to celebrate the fact.’
Paolo Sanger, however, gave his subordinate a contemptuous snarl. ‘Don’t be so melodramatic,’ he growled. ‘Where are our manners?’ he asked, half-standing. ‘Your revelation has, thankfully, ended the need for this uncomfortable charade. If you gentlemen will excuse something of a cliché, there are going to be some changes around here!’
He reached up to his face and carefully peeled away the skin of a mask.
Beneath it pulsed the slow-breathing skull of a monster from Lethbridge-Stewart’s worst nightmares.
At the far end of the table, the four creatures changed before the Brigadier’s eyes. It was a terrifying sight as they literally ripped themselves