Doctor Who: BBC Eighth Doctor Adventures [003] - The Bodysnatchers by Mark Morris

Author:Mark Morris
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science-Fiction - Doctor Who
ISBN: 9780563405689
Publisher: BBC Books
Published: 1998-07-14T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

A Place of Evil

In the main control room of the Zygon ship, a Zygon warrior suddenly hissed, ‘Commander, Veidra’s synchron response has ceased.’

‘What?’ screeched Balaak, twisting its upper body towards its subordinate.

The warrior flinched but repeated the information. Balaak’s black, deep-set eyes seemed to flare orange as it stumped across to the console manned by the warrior and examined the readings. Instantly the Zygon warlord made a sound like a spitting cat. ‘Veidra must have been eliminated. Zorva, I want you and Schivaal to go up on to the surface and assess the situation. Bring Veidra’s remains back here. And if the perpetrators of this outrage are still in the vicinity, destroy them.’

‘Immediately, Commander,’ said Zorva, and stalked from the room together with another Zygon warrior.

‘Chumaak, what is the status of the human captive whose body print Veidra was using?’ asked Balaak.

A Zygon scientist twisted a number of controls on a nearby console and examined a veined, bubble-like screen. Its eyes widened and its delicate features quivered. Timorously it said, ‘Veidra’s elimination has induced a Trauma One response in the assimilation system’s protoplasmic core, Commander. All systems are non-functional, including the Response Monitor. It therefore seems reasonable to assume that the human subject is now conscious and at liberty.’

Eyes blazing, Balaak let loose a gurgling roar that reverberated around the console room. ‘Alert all stations. I want the human creature recaptured at once.’

‘Yes, Commander.’ Chumaak scampered across to what appeared to be a gnarled conglomeration of tubers on spiny stems that were growing from the wall and began to knot them together in a complex pattern. Then the Zygon scientist pressed a swelling on the wall beside the tubers and instantly an animal-like warbling filled the control room.

‘Mowgra, what is Tuval’s current status?’ Balaak asked.

A Zygon warrior crossed to the console recently vacated by Zorva and made some adjustments to the controls. ‘Tuval’s synchron response is unchanged, Commander.’

Balaak inclined its great domed head slightly and gave a soft hiss. ‘That is something at least. Monitor Tuval’s progress, Mowgra, and report to me if there is any fluctuation in the synchron response.’

‘Yes, Commander.’

Somewhere out there, thought the Doctor, standing on the towpath and looking out at the points of light shattering and reforming on the otherwise unseen, tar-black Thames. Fog curled around his ankles, while drizzle darkened the shoulders of his coat and formed a halo of fine droplets on his thick, wavy hair.

He pulled back his sleeve and checked the device strapped to his wrist. It resembled a digital compass with its own light source. A needle hovered on a dial ringed with strange symbols. The central section contained several rows of ever-changing numerical readings.

He tapped the device as though it was a watch whose batteries were running down, then nodded in satisfaction. Humming a Draconian lament, he placed the carpet bag he was carrying on the wet cobbles and opened it. He extracted a bulging waterproof hip pack attached to a belt, a diver’s face-mask, a pair of

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