Doctor Who_ The Paradise of Death - Barry Letts [46]
‘Mm,’ the Brigadier said stiffly. ‘See what you mean.’
Sarah’s quiet amusement at the prickly exchange was interrupted by the return of Onya and a pair of obsequious servants with a Lucullan breakfast, or dinner, or tea; what did the name matter? It was food! Not steak and chips, nor a ham sandwich or a boiled egg, but plate after plate piled high with every conceivable type of dish: meats, vegetables, fruits, cooked and uncooked, sauced and unsauced. Some of it seemed familiar, like the dozen or so different types of bread, some very strange, like the large whelk-like snail thing with staring dead eyes which nobody touched.
Even the Doctor, in spite of his feast on the TARDIS
(the thought of the Brigadier eating a jelly-baby still made Sarah want to giggle), succumbed to the gourmet side of his nature and sampled a goodly number of the treats on offer.
Whether it was due to the simple relief of tension or the effect of the drinks, which tasted like – what? Like Australian wines, rich and chewy (Wasn’t that the word?
Sarah would rather have had a cuppa. Still... ) – they all became very merry, chatting and laughing with their mouths full, waving their arms about (especially Jeremy, who knocked over a pile of spherical objects like marbles which turned out to be hard-boiled God-knows-what eggs) and their talk became more like gossip than the grave deliberations of an interplanetary mission.
Inevitably, though, their thoughts returned to their situation. What to do? Wait for the TARDIS and slip away, back to Earth? Or stay and try to find out more about the paradise they were supposed to share?
‘I’m all for that,’ said Sarah. What a story! she thought.
But what about Tragan? And Freeth if he arrived on the scene?
‘I get the feeling that we’re safe as long as we’re under the official protection of the President,’ said the Brigadier.
‘I quite agree,’ said the Doctor.
‘That’s why I stopped you telling us about Tragan in front of him,’ the Brigadier added to Sarah.
‘I thought he was rather a dear old duck,’ she answered through a mouthful of fried feathers (crunchy and nutty in flavour but apt to get between the teeth).
‘Ya,’ agreed Jeremy. ‘Not much sense of humour, though.’
‘A charming man,’ said the Doctor. ‘And he seemed honest enough. But Freeth and Tragan are his envoys, after all. And they seem to be selling a few serpents along with their paradise.’
Yeah, thought Sarah. But did Parakon spawn nothing but baddies? Apart from the President there was the Onya woman, for instance. Somehow, she gave the impression of being more ‘together’ – okay, modern cant word, almost a cliché, but what else would do? – than anyone she’d ever met. Apart from the Doctor, of course.
And Captain Rudley: he seemed okay too.
Sarah took a handful of squidgy toffee-ish jelly things.
‘Captain Rudley, now,’ said the Brigadier. ‘He seems a decent type. Good-looking young fellow, too. Wouldn’t you agree, Sarah?’
‘What’? Oh, yes. Sure,’ she mumbled, with her mouth full of sweets – and realized to her horror that she was blushing.
Sarah and the Brigadier were not the only ones discussing the captain.
‘Well?’ snapped Tragan to the face on the screen let into the mauve streaked marble wall. ‘What have you found out?’
The hands holding the computer print-out were trembling. ‘Rudley. Captain Waldo Rudley of the Presidential Guard.’ The voice was trembling as well.
‘Father: Carpal Rudley, lower upper-middle class. Temple Guardian until the Dissolution. Deceased. Mother – ’
The lumps on Tragan’s face swelled alarmingly. ‘Not his entire history, idiot. Is there anything against him?’
The voice shook even more. ‘Not that I can see, Vice-Chairman. Oh yes, promotion to lieutenant nearly blocked for a remark seemingly critical of Government policy on bondservants. Er, that’s all.’
‘I knew it!’Tragan said triumphantly. ‘Anti-authority. A crypto-rebel.’ The lumps flushed a deep heliotrope.