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‘Hai!’ and a twist of his hand he achieved his aim.

Jenhegger flew through the air and landed with a heavy thump on the edge of the platform.

He scrambled to his feet and turned quickly, bracing himself to take the certain attempt to topple him over into the pit – and saw the Doctor quietly watching him, his hands by his side, for all the world like a casual bystander, rather than a participant in a fight to the death.

His vision blurred momentarily as the fury rose thickly in his throat.

‘For that alone I kill you!’ he snarled, and once again he charged – and once again found that he was charging the empty air.

‘Stand still and fight like a man!’ he roared. Changing his tactics, he advanced on the Doctor with his sword arm windmilling round, up, down, across, in the attack which had been known to dismember an opponent so fast that he fell instantly, sliced into several discrete pieces.

‘Thank you... for your... kind invitation,’ said the Doctor, bending and swaying and jumping as the heavy blade whistled past. ‘Please forgive me... if I don’t... Oh, well done! That was a beauty!’ he added, as an overhead cut missed him by a hair and thudded deep into the wooden floor.

He couldn’t last much longer, surely; and there was no sign of the Brigadier! It must be that he hadn’t got her message!

Sarah, wound up to a pitch of irrational desperation that would have taken her over the top at the Somme screaming defiance, found her mind working at lightning speed.

There was only one thing to do: get up there while the Doctor was still holding out and somehow create a diversion. But that meant escaping now, right now. Of course! She’d seen the blow on the back of the neck which Onya had used to lay out the guard – and Tragan was in the ideal position, leaning forward slightly in the intensity of his concentration. She looked round for something to use as a weapon.

Nothing.

Onya had just used her hand.

She stood up, but in spite of being blinded by the headset, somehow he sensed her movement.

‘Sit down, Miss Smith.’

‘What’s going on?’ – still moving forward – ’Let me see!

Oh, please let me see!’

He grunted. His face was no longer off-white, and as she got nearer she could see the little pimples which peppered the larger blisters. ‘Ah!’ he suddenly said. ‘He nearly lost a foot! Good, good. If he hadn’t...’

Now!

With all the strength of her insane courage, she brought down her clasped fists on the exact spot at the base of Tragan’s skull. But instead of obediently collapsing on the floor, he leapt to his feet, tore off the headset, and seized her by the arms.

‘You little vixen,’ he hissed, his swollen face inches from hers. Dragging her across to the wall, he snapped the manacles hanging there onto her wrists.

‘No more “fun,” ’ he snarled, pulling a multi-tailed whip from the rack. ‘It’s time you were taught a lesson!’

He drew back his arm – and dropped it again as a confused shouting and the squawk of stunguns came from outside.

The whip fell to the floor and Tragan went for the missile projector in the holster at his side, even as the door flew open and the Brigadier appeared, stungun raised –

and was stopped in his tracks by the sight in front of him.

For Tragan had his gun pointing not at the Brigadier but straight at Sarah’s head.

The clatter of boots behind the Brigadier died away as his backup arrived, and took in the situation.

For a moment there was silence. Then the Brigadier spoke quietly.

‘Don’t be a fool, Tragan,’ he said. ‘You haven’t a hope.

Give up and I’ll make sure that you get a fair trial.’

‘You don’t understand, Brigadier,’ he replied, ‘I am a Naglon. Imprisonment means death for a Naglon. You may kill me if you wish, but first, I shall have the satisfaction of blowing Miss Sarah Jane Smith’s head off.’ His face, a deep muddy purple, was swelling alarmingly into ballooning hemispheres.

He raised the gun – and the two doors behind him burst open. He spun round, to receive the full blast of Rance’s and Ungar’s stunguns.