Doctor Who_ The Paradise of Death - Barry Letts [18]
Sounded great, thought Sarah. How could he say it was dangerous?
Jeremy echoed her thought, saying it sounded
‘wizzowicked’ to him.
The Doctor explained. ‘The program took charge of the Brigadier’s will,’ he said. ‘He wanted to go where he was being taken. He lost any intention of his own.’
‘Not entirely,’ said the Brigadier, remembering his plans to chat up the girls on the beach.
‘For all practical purposes,’ replied the Doctor. ‘But it’s even worse than that. If these people, wherever they come from, have the technology to transmit brain signals – and to control the receiver’s will – they have the means to control a country, a world.’
A shiver ran down Sarah’s spine. If what the Doctor said was true, and she’d never known him wrong before, this was the story of a lifetime, and it was all hers!
Chapter Seven
Tragan carefully placed the implantation gun back into its case, put the case into the drawer of his desk and locked it.
Freeth looked at the recumbent figure on the sofa. ‘He doesn’t look at all well,’ he said. ‘Decidedly peaky. He’s not dead already? A high profile death – what you might call a public corpse – is useful publicity. A private corpse might be something of an embarrassment.’
‘I know what I’m doing,’ replied Tragan, walking over to make a close examination of two small red punctures, one on each temple. ‘The transmitter needles are a little larger than usual, that’s all. His system will soon recover.’
He lightly slapped the flaccid face. ‘Wake up, Grebber.’
There was no reaction. Without any change of expression, Tragan lifted his hand and delivered a vicious backhander to Grebber’s cheek. His head jerked to one side and he started to moan.
‘Mr Grebber!’ called Freeth, in dulcet tones. ‘Open your eyes, there’s a good boy.’
Grebber complied. ‘Where... where am I?’ His eyes tried to focus. ‘What happened?’
‘You passed out, that’s all,’ answered Tragan.
‘Me?’ said Grebber, sitting up and looking vaguely round the room. ‘I never fainted in my life.’ He stood up, and promptly sat down again.
‘You’d better be getting home, dear boy,’ said Freeth, his evident concern creasing the folds of flesh around his little eyes. ‘If you don’t feel well in the morning, you’d do well to go and see your doctor. It could he anything.’
‘Good advice, Mr Grebber,’ said Tragan, opening the door.
For the first time Grebber seemed to register who Tragan was. He dropped his eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah,’ he muttered and made his way uncertainly out. Tragan closed the door behind him.
‘I hope you do know what you’re doing,’ said Freeth, wriggling his bulk into the vacated sofa and searching for his toffees. ‘That headset is larger than the normal ER
type,’ he added suspiciously.
‘Well, of course it is. I’m transmitting and receiving live, not just plugging in to a recording. Now, if you would be so good, Chairman? I have to concentrate.’
Grebber stood outside, trying to make up his mind. He was still feeling groggy, in spite of getting away from Tragan.
Indeed, it was the sight of him that had revived his indecision. He recognized dully that the intensity of his fear had been transformed into a fatalistic acceptance of his doom.
‘It don’t make any difference what I do. I’ve had it either way,’ he said to himself, rubbing his forehead as if to charm away his throbbing headache.
Freeth was right. He’d be better off at home. What could happen today? Sweet FA, that’s what. So he might just as well sleep on it. He set off towards the car park.
He couldn’t have gone more than a dozen paces when he was pulled up short. An idea had come into his head, almost as if it had been injected from outside; an idea of such blinding clarity that there could be no question of rejecting it.
He stood for a moment, contemplating its elegant simplicity. If he were dead, he’d have no more worries. Of course. It was the only way out.
He turned and strode purposefully towards the Apollo rocket which towered over the rest of Space World.
‘Got him,’ said