Doctor Who: Target - Novelisations [065] - The Time Warrior by Terrance Dicks

Author:Terrance Dicks
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science-Fiction - Doctor Who
ISBN: 9780426200239
Publisher: Target Books
Published: 1978-02-14T23:00:00+00:00

9

Linx’s Slaves

Linx stood helmetless in the doorway of his scout ship and stared round the huge underground store-room. All around him slave-scientists were busy at their tasks, repairing delicate circuits, forging new ones where the damage was too great. Grey-faced, red-eyed, stumbling with exhaustion, they worked without cease. Yet still Linx was not satisfied.

So much still to be done with these crude, improvised tools and clumsy workers. Would he never be free of this primitive planet? He looked up angrily as someone began hammering on the door.

(Absorbed with his never-ending problems, Linx had failed to notice that a figure had appeared on the other side of the window grille. The Doctor peered into the room, looking at the strange equipment, the toiling figures, the Sontaran scout-ship in one corner, and knew that his search was over. The metal grille covering the window was loose in its frame of stonework. The Doctor gave an experimental heave. The grille shifted a little. He heaved again, then ducked swiftly back out of sight at the sudden hammering on the door.)

‘Linx,’ bellowed an angry voice. ‘Come out, Linx, you mongrel toad! I have a bone to pick with you!’ The door shivered under a massive blow.

Linx’s little red eyes glowed with anger. ‘I am occupied, Irongron.’

‘Out this minute, dog, or I shall burst down the door.’

Contemptuously Linx turned away. There was a shattering crash, the lock burst open, and the door slammed back against the wall. Irongron stood framed in the doorway, sword in hand. He opened his mouth to bellow a threat – and the breath choked in his throat as he saw the Sontaran’s face for the very first time. He staggered back, his left hand making a clumsy attempt at the sign of the cross.

Linx said ironically, ‘Well? What were you in such haste to say to me?’ Irongron gulped. The Sontaran’s thin lips twitched. ‘I told you that you might not find my face pleasing.’

Irongron rubbed his eyes with a massive paw. ‘Aye, and never was truer word spoken. Are they all as fair of face beyond the stars?’

‘The variety of sentient life-forms is infinite. Do you think your primitive features are pleasing to me? What is it that you want?’

Irongron remembered his grievance. ‘This cursed iron warrior of yours…’

‘You are pleased with it? I can make you many more, if you keep our bargain.’

‘More!’ bellowed Irongron. ‘I tell you, Linx, with allies such as that, I have small need of enemies. The creature nearly had my life. We riddled it with arrows, and Bloodaxe smote off its head. Yet still it sought to slay me!’

‘The measure of a weapon is the skill of the man who handles it. Your sword is useless to one who does not understand how to wield it. You must have mismanaged the hand control.’

Irongron stared at him. In the business of actually dealing with the robot, he had temporarily forgotten how the crisis had come about. ‘Some knave smote the control from my hands with a crossbow-bolt.

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