Doctor Who: Time and the Rani (3 page)

'Oh, get on with it!' Flattery was wasted on the Rani. 'Fetch the girl!'

The girl she referred to, of course, was the Doctor's companion, Mel.

Benumbed by the trauma of the event she had just witnessed, she stared down at Sarn's pathetic remains.

Ikona, incensed by grief, berated her. 'Go on - run!'

She backed off, unsure what to do: her erstwhile kidnapper now seemed to be urging her to escape.

Or was he? By circling, he was restricting her choice, ensuring her sole line of retreat was in the same direction as Sarn had taken.

'Run? The grounds are full of traps!' she cried. Ikona feinted a lunge, causing her to retreat onto the path. 'As well you know!'

'Me? Why should I? This is insane!' cried Mel.

'Don't play the innocent, you bloodthirsty alien! Your friends set those traps!' Another lunge, this time for the throat!

Pulling away, she slipped and rolled from the path into a ditch. Fearful lest another trap should be sprung, she stood up, keeping an arm's length away from the angry Ikona. 'Please, I can understand your being upset!'

'Upset! Yet another of your obscene murders takes place and you -'

'Will you stop accusing me!' Mel's temper rose, matching his. 'This had nothing to do with me!'

'Lies! If I didn't need you as a hostage, you'd be dead!'

Mel was flummoxed. She'd been knocked out by the turbulence in the TARDIS, come to on the shoulders of this odd creature, and now was being told she was to be used as a hostage! 'A hostage? For what?'

'To exchange for our leader. Your friends took him prisoner.'

Friends? What friends, thought the bewildered Mel. The only friend she had was the Doctor and he, presumably, was in the TARDIS. 'Why do you keep calling them friends of mine?'

'You arrived from out of space as they did.' A sudden, unexpected grab deceived her.' Well they can have you back! On
my
terms!'

She tried to scream, but the arm embracing her neck was jammed against her larynx.

Wriggling only demonstrated that his strength was far superior to hers: every squirm simply increased the pressure on her windpipe.

Acquiescence became a requirement of survival as the implacable Ikona untied a rope from his waist.

4

The laboratory had two occupants: the Doctor prostrate on the bench, and the red-haired girl standing with her back to him.

She was bent almost double examining the ripped hole in the machine, but the white trews, pink and white striped long-sleeved tight-waisted bolero and matching striped ankle warmers, made her easily identifiable as Mel.

The Doctor stirred. Blinked. Perplexed, he scanned, without recognition, the lab. He frowned, willing himself to remember. But his memory seemed to have been wiped clean. 'Where am I? Who are you?'

'Mel. Melanie.' The girl turned.

The costume was identical to Mel's - the white sneakers, the candy-striped blouse, even the puffed leg-of-mutton sleeves. But the mass of red hair did not embellish the pert, elfin-like face of Mel. These red curls framed the classical features of the Rani!

'Are you all right, Doctor?' The Rani even mimicked Mel's voice and perky manner.

'All right? Am I? Of course. Of course.' He sat up. 'Are you?'

'Me? Yes. Why not?'

'Indeed, why not? We both are.' Exhibiting bravado, he boldly got off the bench.

Too boldly! His knees buckled, causing him to stagger. The Rani tried to help him but his weight was too much and they floundered together drunkenly, every which way.

The 'Mel' smile she had adopted wilted as she was torn between supporting him and saving her precious equipment when he collided into it.

'Oops!' he exclaimed. 'A bull in a barber's shop.'

A barber's shop? This was the second proverb he had misquoted: certainly a reversal of his sixth persona when he had a quotation for all occasions, but ones which were usually word perfect.

The Rani's innate priorities asserted themselves. She abandoned the Doctor and concentrated on preserving the flasks, pipettes, and other delicate apparatus which were in danger of being smashed.

Eventually, legs sagging, the Doctor clutched a pyramid for support. Steadied at last, his attention strayed to the futuristic custom-built harpoon gun. 'A Navigational Guidance System Distorter! That'd suck any passing space-craft out of the sky.'

True. He did not know it, but this was the very means which had been used to bring the TARDIS into the Rani's orbit. 'Er -where are we?'

'In your lab on Lakertya. Doctor, are you sure you're well?'

'Certainly. Certainly. Fit as a trombone.'

'Fiddle!'

'Maun?'

'Fit as a fiddle!' the Rani snapped.

'Fiddle? Yes. Nerves, I expect.' His fingers were twitching under the over-long sleeves. He concertinaed the cuffs, absently rubbing his wrist where the injection needle had punctured the skin. 'Now, let's see . . . what were we up to - er - Mel, did you say your name was?'

'You don't remember me, do you?' She did not waver from her adopted role, but her eyes searched keenly for any sign of memory revival. 'You don't, do you?' If the fool didn't accept her as Mel, then she'd gone to a lot of trouble for nothing! It gave her no pleasure to wear this ridiculous wig and cute clothes!

'Red hair . . .I recall red hair -' he stopped, horrified. 'What's that!' His wanderings had taken him to a full-length mirror in which both he and 'Mel' were reflected.

'Not what. Who. It's me.'

'With
you, I mean.'

'That's you, Doctor.'

'Me!'
Shocked, unbelieving, he patted his head, seeking the familiar mop of fair curls

. . . but he tousled only short, sleek, dark hair. The mirror image copied, confirming the worst! 'No wonder I've lost my memory!'

The Rani's tolerance was wearing thin. 'Never mind the pathos!' Realising the Mel characterisation was slipping, she faked a sweet smile. 'I mean, you're supposed to be conducting an experiment. Not frightening yourself to death.'

'Experiment?'

She indicated the ravaged machine in the south pyramid. 'It exploded and threw you to the ground; me too. Knocked both of us cold. When I came round' -she shrugged
a la
Mel - 'you were as you look now.'

'The shock of the explosion must have caused me to regenerate.'

'You mean, this is what you're going to look like permanently?' She was unable to resist turning the screw!

'I want all mirrors removed from the TARDIS henceforth!' he cried, definitely not enamoured of his changed appearance!

'Oh, so you recall the TARDIS then?' Apprehension modified her tone: was, the drug's potency on the wane? Unobtrusively, she picked up a syringe ready to inject a booster if necessary.

'The TARDIS? . . . Yes. And you, Mel. Yet. . .' -gawping at her - '. . . there's something out of sync . . .' He shook himself. 'I'm obviously experiencing post-regeneration amnesia.'

'Don't worry. It'll pass.' She replaced the syringe. 'Meanwhile, why not repair the machine? You said it was important.'

'Important? Did I? Wonder what I was up to?' He squinted into the hole. 'Seems pretty far gone. Need a genius to unravel this.'

'Well, you are a genius.'

'Yes . . . Yes. I can definitely remember that.'

'Especially in thermodynamics.'

'How did you know that, Mel?'

'You told me. It was your special subject when you were at university.'

'University . . .' The reference seemed to strike a vague chord of memory. 'You remind me of someone I knew when I was there . . .'

The Rani cut in hurriedly. 'The machine, Doctor. It has to be repaired. And you're, the only one with the particular skills to do it.'

'Your confidence is very flattering, Mel.' He poked his head into the charred hole.

The real Mel's head was poked into something too: a halter!

In a rough tug-of-war, she was being unceremoniously hauled along by Ikona through a narrow canyon. The rope hobbling her ankles and tethering her wrists was also a noose about her neck! Ikona intended keeping a firm hold on his to-be-traded-in hostage.

'I'm choking,' gasped Mel.

No response from the determined captor.

'D'you hear? I'm choking!'

'Then stop struggling.'

Reinforcing his lack of sympathy, he jerked the halter to maintain pace.

An obdurate scowl from Mel. 'Will you listen! How many more times do I have to repeat I'm not your enemy!'

'I'd prefer you to say nothing. Your endless squawking hurts my ears.'

'I'm not mad about you either,' countered Mel. 'But trading insults isn't going to get us anywhere.'

Another fierce jerk caused her to stumble and almost fall.

'Look - can we begin from scratch? My name's Mel and I come from Earth. Your turn.'

'This is no game, Earthling.'

'Okay.' A sigh. 'Let's try another tack. You claim I was alone when you found me.'

'Don't start on about this mythical Doctor again!' This was at least the fifth occasion on which Mel had asked about the Doctor.

'I have to!'

'There was no one else in the strange box. If he exists' - and, in Ikona's cynical opinion, she was lying - 'he must have left.'

'Not a chance! The Doctor wouldn't've left me!'

'If he had any sense he would!'

'It's not even up for discussion!'

'Good. I shall enjoy the silence!'

The silence did not last long.

Dragged mercilessly over loose stones and boulders, the hobbled Mel's attention, unlike Ikona's, was on the perilous terrain. A lucky break for Ikona.

'Watch out!' she yelled.

Determination in every stride, Ikona had not spotted mine buried in the shale.

The warning came fractionally too late. His leather-ad foot made contact with the mine.

Simultaneously, Mel gave a tremendous yank on the rope.

Huddled together, petrified spectators, they watched the formation of the opaque bubble. Would the volatile fireball spin towards them?

By the grace of good fortune, the contraption was propelled away from them into the cliffside. The explosion sent fragmented rock and dust spiralling. The canyon reverberated, amplifying the ear-splitting detonation.

Spluttering in the dust cloud, Mel extricated herself from Ikona.

'Now will you accept I'm not your enemy?'

Ikona's response was to begin untying her bond. 'We must hurry. The Tetraps will come to investigate.'

Tetraps? Mel had never heard the name. But she put the question on hold: it was imperative for her to win the confidence of Ikona.

'What made you think I was in league with them?'

'You're not Lakertyan. You don't belong on this planet.'

'They're human?' queried Mel, surprised. 'Like me?'

His reply surprised her even more.

'Not like you. Although they are almost as hideous.' There was no doubting the sincerity of his statement!

Despite the fraught situation she was in, Mel felt affronted. Ignorant of his faux pas, Ikona scaled an awkward crevase and then turned, with an oddly lizardlike, stiff-necked movement, to ensure that Mel was following.

She began the tricky ascent. 'Just as well I'm wearing sneakers,' she muttered to herself. She preferred the more fashionable high-heeled boots she had worn with her previous pants suit. As it happened, she had been exercising when the disaster overcame the TARDIS, and so she was appropriately dressed for this inhospitable planet beneath its cerise sky: inhospitable, that is, unless you enjoy Lakertyan reptilian ancestry!

Thoughts of the TARDIS made her wonder about the Doctor. Where was he? What had befallen him? Was he a prisoner? If so, of whom?

Had she looked back, her speculation would have been less on the Doctor's safety and more on her own.

Several hundred metres to the rear, a hairy, bony claw eased over a rock.

Urak, having gone to the TARDIS and found Mel no longer there, had picked up the spores of the missing girl . . . and was in dedicated pursuit. . .

5

Fitness fanatic though she might be, Mel's resources were being taxed by Ikona's zealous flight. 'Hey, put on the brakes! I need a breather!' 'We must keep moving.'

Ikona knew the thunderclap from the trap he had set off would have alerted the enemy.

A perceptive deduction: Urak was already trailing them.

The Tetrap's quadview encompassed cliffs to his rear, a crevasse to his right, a canyon to his left, and a boulder-strewn plateau in front of him. In none of them did Ikona and Mel feature. Every granite outcrop, every niche in the rocks, seemed to harbour menace as Mel darted between them. Ikona reduced his pace in deference to her pleas, but his anxiety was evident. 'What happened to the rest of your people?' Mel queried. 'Wouldn't they help?' 'No. They've been completely subdued.'

Mel, registering the bitterness, nevertheless persisted. 'We could at least ask them.'

"The only one they listen to is Beyus, our leader.' 'Fine, let's go to him.'

'He's the hostage I wanted to exchange you for -listen!' They froze.

Listened. Sure enough, far off but getting ominously nearer, were the faint sounds of pursuit.

Breaking from cover, Ikona struck out for the wide expanse of the plateau.

'We can't go that way! It's completely exposed!' Mel wanted to stay hidden.

'For once don't argue!' he ordered. 'Quickly!'

Feeling increasingly vulnerable, Mel tagged reluctantly along. Her own choice would have been to make for the cliffs and find a cave: she prayed that Ikona knew what he was doing!

He did.

Buried in a gully, its entrance camouflaged by deceptively-arranged sedimentary rock, was a drainage pipe. Shoving Mel ahead of him, Ikona crawled inside his prepared hideaway. 'They'll think we've doubled back to stay under cover,' he predicted.