Doctor Who - The 8th Doctor - 33 - Coldheart by Trevor Baxendale

Author:Trevor Baxendale
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Literary, Science Fiction, General, Doctor Who (Fictitious Character), Fiction
ISBN: 9780563555957
Publisher: BBC Pubns
Published: 2000-04-02T07:00:00+00:00

‘Did you. . . stop. . . him?’

Brevus shook his head. ‘The Doctor’s gone after Revan.’

‘Tell him. . . Revan set more charges. . . in the. . . ’ Akestus began to cough thickly.

‘What?’ demanded Brevus urgently. ‘Where? More charges where?’

Akestus’s eyes began to glaze over, and Brevus watched dumbly as the blood began to ooze more slowly from the hole in his chest.

‘Glad. . . I. . . was. . . able. . . to help,’ whispered Akestus, as the blood stopped flowing.

The Doctor raced after Revan, his feet clattering along the metalled walkway that led from the drill-head chamber. Revan had taken the stairs rather than the dropshaft to the lower level; the Doctor did the same, jumping the steps in sets of five and swinging himself around the switchback corners. His momentum kept him colliding with the walls but he couldn’t afford to sacrifice any speed for safety.

He emerged on to the steel grating of a walkway suspended over the next level, where the walls were bare rock. Directly below him something moved in the shadows, a hurriedly shambling figure, breathing hard, making for the power room. The Doctor could hear the hum of the static-electricity generators and feel it in the buzz through his shoes. Without thinking he vaulted over the gangway handrail and landed with terrific force on Revan’s back. The slimer hit the floor with a roar of surprise, the Doctor rolling clear just in time to avoid a powerful swipe of his fist.

For a second the two of them crouched, glaring at each other. A thick line of drool stretched from Revan’s O-shaped mouth to the floor. Through the open doorway behind him, the Doctor could hear the busy thrumming of the generator. That was where the first of the thermium charges had been planted.

‘Come to stop the countdown?’ asked the Doctor. Well, it was worth a try.

170

Revan let out a harsh, derisive laugh. ‘No, Doctor. I’ve come to detonate them manually.’

With surprising speed, the slimer launched himself at the Doctor, shoulder-ing him back through the generator-room door. They smashed into the control panel with enough force to dent the metal casing.

‘Sorry, Revan,’ gasped the Doctor. ‘Can’t let you do it.’

The Doctor took out the little paper sachet of salt from the motorway service station and shoved it with his thumb deep into Revan’s wet and snarling mouth. The thin paper tore and the salt poured out. The effect was instantaneous. With a bellow of pain, Revan tore himself free, clutching at his mouth and throat. The salt had caused the mucus membrane covering the interior of his mouth to swell up and froth with a dreadful yellow discharge. Howling and spitting, Revan lashed from side to side, flecks of the stuff spraying across the walls. The Doctor charged at him, lowering his head, and catapulted the slimer out through the open doorway.

The Doctor skidded to a halt, and then quickly doubled back, looking urgently all around the room for the bombs.

There

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