Doctor Who_ The Paradise of Death - Barry Letts [43]
Fortress Tragan?
‘Welcome to – what did you call it? “Fortress Tragan”,’
said her host, gesturing to her to go through the door at the other end of the bridge. ‘Very appropriate,’ he added.
She went through the door, across a small anonymous lobby, and into a vaulted hall as luxurious, and impersonal, as the palazzo of a renaissance prince. Heavy tapestries showed scenes of alien battle, with the appearance of some of the combatants as far from the comparative normality of Tragan’s as his was from Sarah’s. Large humanoid statues echoed the theme of combat and bloodshed, some even representing episodes of torture, from which Sarah quickly averted her eyes. Thick, strangely patterned carpets intermittently softened the ringing of their footsteps as they advanced across the marble floor.
‘This is your home?’ she said, unbelievingly.
‘It is.’
Good heavens above!
‘This building is the headquarters of the Entertainments Division of the Parakon Corporation, of which I am Vice-Chairman. I live over the shop, so to speak.’
They had arrived at a smaller chamber set back from the main room, furnished as sumptuously but on a more domestic scale. Tragan walked to the wall and pressed a concealed button. ‘We must find you somewhere to sleep, he said. And I’ll order some food.’
It looked as if he was going to obey Freeth, then. For the moment at any rate, she was to be treated as a guest, rather than as a captive or as a... Again Sarah’s mind refused to go on.
A voice responded to his summons, a voice which filled the echoing spaces of the hall. ‘Is that you, Vice-Chairman?’
‘Who else could it be, Odun?’ snapped Tragan, the warts on his face riding the ripples.
‘I told Captain Rudley you were still away.’
‘Rudley? What did he want?’
‘He’s here now. He – ’
The worried voice was interrupted by the strong confident tones of a younger man. ‘Tragan? I’m coming in.’
‘You can’t go in there! Come back!’
But Captain Rudley ignored the feeble protest. A door in the wall which Sarah had not even noticed, disguised as it was by the ornate carvings, slid open and a tall young man dressed in a dark green uniform strode into the room followed by a small agitated man uttering feeble protests.
‘This is insufferable!’ said Tragan, his face flushing deeper shade of purple. ‘You’ve really gone too far this time, Rudley.’
‘Is this Sarah Jane Smith?’
‘How did you know that?’
Rudley turned to Sarah. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Just about,’ answered Sarah. It looked as if the cavalry had arrived, even if he hadn’t got a horse!
‘Good,’ said Rudley. ‘If you would like to come with me
– ’
‘The Presidential Guard has no jurisdiction in this sector,’ Tragan said. ‘I’d be within my rights to have you kicked out. Literally.’
‘I shouldn’t advise you to try,’ said Rudley. ‘I’m here on the direct orders of the President himself. Ready, Miss Smith?’
‘I certainly am!’
Tragan interposed himself between them. ‘Miss Smith stays here.’
The Captain didn’t even raise his voice. ‘Get out of the way,’ he said.
Tragan’s face was shaking and shivering as if agitated by a sudden squall of wind. He spoke as quietly as Rudley, but the intensity of his anger was shaking his voice as well as his face. ‘You are of very little account in this society, Captain Rudley. If you take my advice you’ll – oof!’
Sarah’s cry of surprise was followed by a giggle of delight as Tragan fell to the floor, doubled up by a powerful short-arm jab from the Captain.
‘Come on,’ he said, leading the way to the door, where Odun was standing, pressed back against the wall. ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t hit him very hard. He’s only winded.’
‘That’s a pity,’ said Sarah.
Tragan struggled to get his voice. ‘You, you young puppy! I’ll