Doctor Who PDA43 - Superior Beings (5th) by Nick Walters

Author:Nick Walters
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2011-07-13T02:43:59+00:00

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Kikker paced up and down before the prey, tail swishing with impatience, watching its pale, fleshy face for any signs of life.

He could hardly wait for it to regain consciousness - he hadn‟t conducted a decent interrogation in centuries. The last had been the soldiers on Thynemnus - they had resisted well, providing him with hours of satisfaction. He remembered slicing one open and tossing its innards to some Vale Guards, who had scrambled like starving whelps for the rare treat of fresh meat. Even then the prey had not screamed

- it had died without even a whimper. This one, though, looked nothing like a soldier - its clothes were civilian, its hair fair and fine, visible flesh unmarked by battle-scars. It looked sleek and well-fed. Young and firm-limbed. Kikker couldn‟t help himself from drooling, and he once again cursed his no-flesh pledge.

Behind him stood the same two Vale Guards, their eyes already glimmering in anticipation, standing to attention on either side of a trolley on which instruments of torture were laid out. Kikker was pleased to see that they had been cleaned, sharpened and polished so that they gleamed in the dank, watery light of the brig. On the vitreous walls, between the pale glowglobes, hung racks of larger equipment -

cudgels, swords, impalers, peelers, piercers, scrapers, prods and spikes. These had not been cleaned - instead, they were deliberately left crusted with the blood of previous victims, to help instil dread in the latest. The smell rising from them was old and rank, sour and tarry, but it still made Kikker‟s mouth water.

In the centre of the room was the chair - a fiendish device of torture and a testament to the ingenuity of Valethske martial engineering. Once strapped in, the victim‟s body could be harmed in a number of exquisitely painful and interesting ways. Needles hovered above tethered wrists ready to inject poison or drain wearying quantities of blood; electrodes waited to send arcs of agonising energy through the victim‟s convulsing body; straps bound the chest, arms and legs, ready to be tightened; the whole chair could be spun on its axis, or slowly immersed in a pool of acid beneath the brig, or made to crush, twist, stretch or snap selected limbs.

Even though it hadn‟t been used for hundreds of years, it was still in excellent working condition. Kikker made sure of that.

Suddenly the prey emitted a groan. Kikker stopped pacing.

Its eyelids flickered - and then opened, revealing typically weak, milky human eyes. It strained against its bonds, looking around, eyes widening as it realised where it was.

Kikker‟s lips widened in grim mirth. Now came the fear, the begging, the pleading for mercy. He stepped closer, the better to hear its pathetic mewlings.

Its tiny, weak mouth moved as it spoke. „Short back and sides, please.‟

Kikker snarled, bending over the prey. „Fear me!‟ he hissed, reaching out and twisting the flaps of its ears. „By the blood of the Great Vale, you have reason to!‟

Kikker was rewarded with a grimace of agony.

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