Doctor Who_ Father Time Part 43

Graltor and Tarvin both snorted at that, but Cate was pleased to see Miranda giving it some thought.

'You know who's loyal and who isn't?'

'I have my suspicions,' Cate replied diplomatically. Of course, she'd never asked anyone. 'None of us are here through choice.'

Tarvin eyed Cate, perhaps suspecting that she was of senior rank. 'The slaves would love to riot. But the guards can locate us and use the pain inducers unless you know how to remove them.'

Miranda nodded. 'But given the chance, they'd want to be free?'

'Isn't that obvious?'

Miranda turned to Cate and looked coldly at her. 'Not to everyone.' She stopped in her tracks. 'OK. Change of plan we take control of the s.h.i.+p.'

'Lady Miranda, they won't just let us walk on to the flight deck and hand us control.'

Miranda smiled. 'Then we'll just have to steal it.'

The Doctor checked his watch, then slipped it back into his pocket.

'Our twenty minutes is nearly up,' he told Debbie.

'This s.h.i.+p is even bigger than it looks.' She was starting to get out of breath. 'What's that map of yours saying?'

'We're nearly there. In fact ' The Doctor stopped abruptly. 'This door,' he exclaimed, staring at a large circular hatch. Then, hesitating, he took four steps forward and turned a hundred and eighty degrees. 'No, this one.'

Debbie smiled and reached for the control panel.

The moment before she touched it, the Doctor sensed something was wrong.

There was a thunderclap, and a flash of light seemed to transfix her. Debbie fell back.

The door control was blackened, smoke pouring from it. The Doctor knelt over Debbie. He checked her pulse. She was untouched no sign of burning, no sign of charring.

But she wasn't moving and he already knew...

He stood quickly, looked around. He realised he was becoming agitated. He tried to concentrate, to raise his endorphin level, but it didn't seem to be working. Behind him, he realised, the door to Miranda's cell was opening. He looked back at Debbie. He would deal with that in a moment, when he'd found Miranda. Until then, yes, finding Miranda was his top priority, and nothing else mattered. No one else mattered.

The Doctor ducked through the door. Inside was a circular room, with a large bed in the middle.

The Doctor looked around. 'Miranda!' he called out.

This wasn't a prison cell. It looked more like the penthouse suite of a hotel in Vegas. Something caught the Doctor's eye. It was lying on the bed. He pulled it up. A Batman T-s.h.i.+rt. It had to be Miranda's even that marketing campaign hadn't got as far as the next universe but one.

The Doctor paced around the room.

Miranda wasn't here.

The door had been b.o.o.by-trapped. They'd destroyed the sonic suitcase. They'd killed... they'd... they'd been expecting him.

The Doctor turned.

A middle-aged man in green body armour stood in the doorway.

The man had a long, curved blade in his hand.

'I'm glad it was her, not you,' he said, stepping over Debbie's body. 'I wanted your death to be at my hands.'

Chapter Twenty-six.

Death in the Family Ferran filled the doorway. He was standing over Debbie's body, a sneer on his face.

'Where is my daughter?' the Doctor asked quietly.

The Prefect absent-mindedly prodded Debbie with his foot. 'I don't know. She's managed to escape, but she can't have left the s.h.i.+p.' He looked up. 'I will hunt her down. I only need one of you alive; your brain pattern is as good as hers. All things being equal, I would have spared Miranda. But I might have her beheaded just to see the look on your face.' He chuckled at his witticism.

The Doctor turned to face the Prefect square on.

Ferran was still sneering. 'What's the matter, Doctor, no bons mots bons mots? No quips? I thought the pen was mightier than the sword. I thought you could destroy your enemies with a well-chosen word.'

The Doctor took a step, then another, the third step was easier. By the sixth and seventh, he was charging forward.

Ferran faced him, readied himself for the attack.

But the Doctor was already there. He slammed into the Prefect. Ferran tried to slash him with his knife, but the Doctor was already forcing it out of his hand.

'That's right,' Ferran hissed. 'Fight me. Feels good, doesn't it?'

Ferran shoved the Doctor away from him, then punched him in the stomach.

'But you'll have to be faster than that.'

The Doctor chose not to feel the pain. Instead he lashed out, swinging a punch that Ferran barely avoided.

Ferran grabbed the Doctor's sleeve, reached up, under his arm, twisted around, then hoisted the Doctor over his shoulder, pivoted him, threw the Doctor on to his back into the middle of the room.

'Not very good at this, are you?' Ferran smirked as the Doctor forced air back into his lungs and tried to get back on his feet.

He faced Ferran, got a couple of jabs to his opponent's head. Ferran blocked the third, grabbing his arm, twisting it, until the Doctor was forced to sink to his knees.

'You've got the strength,' Ferran said. 'You've got the technique. But you don't have that killer instinct. Your hearts aren't in it. You think it's the last resort, but it's not: it's the fundamental unit of social control.'

But the Doctor shuffled forward, broke Ferran's grip and punched him hard on the foot.

As Ferran hopped back, the Doctor was on his feet again, launching a chop to the neck and a flat palm in Ferran's face, all one move. The Doctor brought his knee up to Ferran's stomach, winded him. Then a single punch floored the Prefect.

Ferran coughed, gasped for breath.

The Doctor glared down. 'What's the matter? No bons mots bons mots, no quips?'

The Doctor knelt over him, pressed his knee into Ferran's chest and punched him hard in the face. He felt Ferran's nose break. He hesitated, but only for a moment, then punched him again.

Ferran slumped back.

The Doctor got up, and stood panting. He had to find Miranda.

He paced around the room.

Ferran was on his hands and knees, glaring at him.

'Why stop?' Ferran asked, wiping blood from his lip.

'Not so good against someone who can fight back, are you?' the Doctor shouted.

Ferran smiled and started to rise.

'Where are your principles now, Doctor? I thought you abhorred violence. I thought you used your mind, not your fists.'

'You're a bully, Ferran,' the Doctor snapped. 'Sometimes bullies need to be fought. Where's Miranda?'

Ferran ignored him this time. 'You think you're brave because you started this, but you aren't, not unless you finish it.'

Ferran leapt at him, swinging a punch at the Doctor's jaw. The Doctor barely had time to dodge it. While the Doctor was still disorientated, Ferran followed it up with another, got in close, kneed him in the stomach, made him double up, lifted him off his feet.

The Doctor flailed, got a punch in, but Ferran didn't even feel it. Ferran grabbed the Doctor's hair at the nape of his neck with one hand, headb.u.t.ting his face. He grabbed the Doctor's wrist, twisted it back, pulled his arm out, chopped it at the shoulder.

The Doctor collapsed, coughing.

He was lying alongside Debbie's body. Her eyes were open, staring straight at him. He reached out, touched her face. It was the only movement he could make. He tried to summon the effort, but just couldn't.

'So now we discover the truth,' Ferran hissed. 'You don't fight because you can't. Because you know you would lose. And that great mind, all that experience, all that wit, all that learning. It's useless.'

He lifted the Doctor's head, then slammed it into the floor.

The Doctor sagged. Ferran toyed with the idea of breaking his neck, but decided against it. He settled for breaking a couple of ribs.

There was a flicker and the lights came back on to their normal levels. Humming and buzzing as the s.h.i.+p's systems came back on stream. Ferran seemed imbued by the power himself. He took a deep breath, as though he was absorbing the light.

Ferran knelt next to the Doctor, leaned over him, his breath hot on the Doctor's face. 'Things have changed since your time. People have evolved. We know that there's no such thing as law, no such thing as politics, no such thing as science, no such thing as religion, no such thing as philosophy, no such thing as civilisation. There is strength. All else is there to increase or justify strength, or to keep others weak. The universe just doesn't work the way you think it does. It never did.'

The Doctor didn't move. He hadn't moved for a while, now.

Ferran lifted him up, easily, then dropped him on to his daughter's bed. He recovered the knife.

'You are nothing. Goodbye, Doctor.'

There was a familiar figure in the doorway.

'Ah, Deputy, glad you could join me. Better late than never.'

She moved into the room, gracefully.

Ferran stepped back, showed off his handiwork.

'That's the Doctor?' the Deputy said, betraying surprise. She crossed the room to the bed, then bent over him, touched his neck, then each of his wrists. She parted his swollen eyelids with her fingers, stared into his eyes.

'He's dead,' she said, no feeling in the words.

Ferran took a step forward. 'Dead?'

He looked at the Doctor's body, then at his Deputy. 'Partially?' he said, 'His kind can...'

The Deputy looked up. 'He's dead.'

Ferran considered the news for a moment. He felt empty. Although the Doctor had died by his hand, he still felt robbed. What had his last words been? He struggled to remember. 'Where is his daughter?' he asked, finally.

'I don't know. I brought her back here, then '

Ferran held up his hand. 'We need to find her. Come with me to the flight deck. Now the power's back, we'll soon locate her.'

He glanced back at the Doctor. 'This could still be a trap. Get someone here to secure the Doctor's body.' He stepped over Debbie's corpse. 'And to dispose of his companion's.'

The Deputy nodded, then reached for her communications mic and whispered a few commands, before joining the Prefect in the corridor. 'Can you smell smoke?' Ferran asked as they walked the short distance to the lift.

The Deputy shook her head. 'I'm surprised you can smell anything at the moment. Did the Doctor do that to you?'

Ferran dabbed at his nose with his finger. He already knew it was hot, and sore. The bone was broken and, no doubt, there were a few bruises. Nothing that wouldn't mend.

The lift door hissed shut and they started moving up to the flight deck.

The Deputy stood impa.s.sively at his side. She was a beautiful creature, perfection itself. But she was nothing compared with her original original. She had none of Miranda's fire.

Well, the first step to strength, the first rung on the ladder of progress, was to harness fire.

With her father dead, there was no hope for the Last One, now. It was all but over.

The lift door opened and Ferran strode on to the bridge.

'Computer, what is our status?'

's.h.i.+p is in cla.s.s-three orbit above planet Earth, all s.h.i.+p systems are operating at full capacity, with the exception of the time engine, which is repairing in line with previous reports.'