Doctor Who: BBC Eighth Doctor Adventures [019] - The Taint by Michael Collier

Author:Michael Collier
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science-Fiction - Doctor Who
ISBN: 9780563555681
Publisher: BBC Books
Published: 1999-02-14T23:00:00+00:00

5.3

Roley peeped round the splintered door frame that led out from the drawing room into the passageway to the hall. All was quiet. Though he strained to hear the slightest sound in the silence. it seemed the intruders were gone.

He was aware Maria had come into the room behind him. Her being there made him feel more confident, and he walked out into the passageway.

Then, holding his breath, he entered the hall.

It was a mess. The door was shattered, his table was overturned, a chair lay on its side, and an almighty chunk had been taken out of his banisters.

Of Fitz and Sam, there was no sign.

‘Have I missed something?’

The Doctor had suddenly appeared, standing at the top of the stairs, fixing him with those alarming, piercing eyes of his. ‘My machinery’s terribly noisy.’

Roley stared back at him. ‘You mean… you missed all that…?’

‘All what?’

‘Crikey Moses, man, where’ve you been, the moon?’

The Doctor nodded, his voice perfectly serious. ‘Yes. Once or twice.’ Then he noticed the banisters, and his flippancy was forgotten in an instant. He frowned. ‘Where’s Sam?’

Sam remembered her journey to Azoth’s lair only in snatches. She came to first in a stuffy car, her arm killing her. She thought she must’ve fallen off the back seat because she was down in the footwells. She caught a glimpse of Azoth, sitting in the passenger seat, silent. Then a bloodied arm fell across her face. From the stained white sleeve she guessed it had to be Austen. She didn’t want to look up and see what else was on the back seat, so she shut her eyes.

The next thing she remembered she was being carried through somewhere dark, tunnels or something. Her arm still felt as if it were on fire. She was reminded of being blasted on Janus Prime. Same bloody shoulder… She’d thought about saying something as whoever was carrying her swung her through the chill caverns, but wanted it to be something clever. She must have passed out again before anything came to mind. Typical.

Now she was on a couch in a well-lit room, staring up at the ceiling. She was surprised there was no strip lighting there, as it was that kind of brightness. Did they have strip lights in 1963? Then she glanced around and realised this place was a teeny bit more anachronistic than her rape alarm. Shouldn’t be allowed.

The room was clustered with crystals, glowing feverishly – prettier than strip lights, so that was something. Pale-grey banks of equipment lined the walls, looking hi-tech through their minimalism, small lights would occasionally light to suggest the machinery was working, and a hum of power not dissimilar to the TARDIS’s own could be heard.

She tried to sit up, then realised she was being restrained. Force clamps or something, she reckoned, for there was nothing obvious holding her body in place.

Ahead of her was a large workbench lined with more of the grey machines and units. Vaguely, she became aware of the smell of rotten eggs, and wondered if it was her.

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