Doctor Who_ Winner Takes All - Jacqueline Rayner [7]
She threw him a withering look. ‘What are you doing out here anyway? Did your biscuit cravings get the better of you?’ She pulled the milk‐sodden, now‐crushed packet of custard creams out of the bag and waved it in his face. He took it, opened it and put a whole one in his mouth.
‘My fpider fenfe waf tingling,’ he said round a mouthful of crumbs and cream filling.
‘Be serious,’ she said. ‘And it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.’
He swallowed the biscuit. ‘I’m being serious! I’m attuned to your distress cries. They come in on a certain wavelength.’ He wiggled his fingers at his head, miming a frequency being received.
For a second, she actually considered that he might be telling the truth. After all, she had no idea how alien brains worked. But she knew he must be having her on really. It wasn’t as if she’d even been making any distress cries.
She sniffed dismissively, and he grinned. ‘I got bored with the game,’ he said. ‘No challenge for a mind like mine.’
‘Did you beat Mickey’s score?’ she asked.
‘What d’you think? Course I did. By several thousand points, too. It might have been round about when I was doing the victory yell that he invited me to leave.’
Rose laughed incredulously. ‘You let Mickey Smith chuck you out?’
The Doctor looked very slightly embarrassed. ‘Told you, I’d had enough of the game,’ he said. ‘Come on, let’s go and do something less boring instead.’
* * *
It was the least deserted part of the planet Toop, because it had two structures built on it. One resembled a giant pyramid that had had its top sliced off, like a boiled egg. But whereas a pyramid has only one entrance, this had hundreds. Sometimes, out of the corner of your eye, it might look as if the building was inside a dome, an immense upturned bowl made of faint purple lines. But there again, that might be a trick of the light.
The other building had no visible doors at all. It would be called big, although it was much smaller than the truncated pyramid, square and solid, constructed with little finesse.
Inside this building were many rooms, including what was known as the main control room. And inside the main control room, there was uproar. Quevvils were running back and forth, checking monitors and dials and read‐outs. ‘This is amazing!’ squeaked one. ‘This controller has mastered the game! The speed, the skill…’
‘There is a long way to go yet,’ said another, but his companions ignored the words of caution.
‘The carrier has penetrated another harrier.’ called a third excitedly. ‘Victory! Victory approaches!’
A stocky Quevvil started shooing a group of his gleeful fellows into a series of booths. ‘Ready yourselves! Do not delay! At the exact moment of success, you will be transported into the Mantodean stronghold – prepare yourselves for slaughter.’
The spiny backs of each Quevvil bristled as they readied themselves for action. One small Quevvil let a quill fly in excitement; it pinged off the back of the teleport booth and the stocky Quevvil who was in charge swung round at the sound. ‘I… I’m sorry, Frinel,’ the small Quevvil squeaked, terrified.
Frinel glowered. ‘If it were not that I must ready myself for the moment of victory – the moment when I, with a single touch on this button, bring victory to us all… then you would be punished for your indiscipline.’ His clawed finger was hovering over a huge red button, the control of the teleporter. ‘Victory approaches…’
‘Er… er… victory’s stopped approaching,’ said another Quevvil nervously, claw tapping a dial to make certain of the reading.
‘The humans often pause for a while,’ said another. ‘They have no stamina. They are not warriors.’
A murmur of agreement passed throughout the room.
‘No, the game’s been shut off,’ said the nervous Quevvil. ‘We just have to hope that the carrier survives until the game is resumed…’
There was a groan from a Quevvil watching a monitor. ‘Mantodeans in the sector…’ he said. The others clustered around, even the Quevvils who had entered