Doctor Who_ Father Time Part 23

The Doctor ducked out of sight, hiding behind a burned-out car.

At first the Doctor didn't think it was human. It was humanoid, dressed in matt black that made it difficult to see in the gloom. It wore a helmet that was part c.o.c.kroach, part gas mask, and carried a long, sleek rifle. As the Doctor watched, it became clear it was a man in a uniform. A tall man, but essentially just a man.

One of the Deputy's people, but too tall to be the Deputy.

So, he'd managed to get reinforcements into this time zone. Reinforcements and hardware.

The guard hadn't seen him.

The Doctor looked at the tower block, let his eye travel up to the lights on the top three floors. That guard wouldn't be the only one: the Doctor may have to get past a squad of them on each of thirty floors to get where he wanted.

He squatted down behind the car, confident they hadn't seen him yet, and that he was hidden where he was. He needed a plan.

'So what's so great about the Teen t.i.tans?' Miranda asked Bob.

Bob was a little self-conscious at first, but it was a fair question: after all, he had insisted on walking Miranda home, before realising he wouldn't be able to get back to LV426, the comic shop, in time, and so he'd contrived a detour for them.

Miranda had been surprisingly good about it, genuinely interested. Now they were back on course for her house.

'The Perez art,' he said. 'Look.'

'Glossy paper,' she noted, flicking through.

'It's called Baxter paper. It's so popular they bring it out in two editions. Er... careful with that.'

'You know the name of the paper it's printed on?'

'Er... yes. That's a bit tragic, isn't it?'

She smiled at him. 'No. Having knowledge and enthusiasm is never a bad thing.'

Bob decided not to demonstrate quite how much knowledge he really had about comics. He suspected that Miranda's admiration might become pity.

'They live in a big tower, shaped like a T,' Miranda giggled. 'T for t.i.tans.'

'It's... you'll have to read it. It's good.'

'There are a lot of scantily-clad women in this,' she noted, a little archly. 'Apart from this one. "Raven, conceived in another dimension, born on Azarath, died on Earth".'

'She's a sort of witch. That demon's her dad, but she fought against her evil nature and became a good guy. And she formed the New Teen t.i.tans to fight him. Er... don't bend it back like that.

'Why not?'

'Well, they're worth more if they're mint condition.'

Miranda handed the comic back to him, smiling.

'It's wish fulfilment, really,' Bob said.

'What do you mean?'

'Superheroes and stuff. I mean, everyone wishes at some point that their parents aren't their real parents.' He clammed up, realising what he was saying. 'I didn't mean...'

Miranda smiled generously. 'Don't worry. I know what you mean.'

'I bet you've sat at home wis.h.i.+ng you were really a princess from s.p.a.ce, with a load of special powers, and the fate of the galaxy in your hands.'

Miranda laughed. 'No,' she said. 'Is that really what you spend your time thinking?'

'Er, well, no,' Bob lied.

Miranda looked very knowingly at him. 'Perhaps I don't read enough comics.'

'You can borrow it if you want.'

Miranda thought about it. 'OK,' she said, finally. He handed it to her, and she placed it carefully in her bag, keeping it flat in the folds of a textbook.

'Thanks for coming with me,' he said, feeling that he ought to. She smiled.

'Thank you for taking me.'

'Are you looking forward to the party tomorrow?'

'I'm not really comfortable at parties,' she admitted.

'I'll look after you,' he a.s.sured her.

Miranda smiled. 'Thank you, Bob.'

She paused at a set of iron gates. 'I'm home,' she said.

Bob laughed and looked through the gates at the perfect driveway, the manicured lawns and the huge house in the middle of it all. 'Good one. Whoever lives in there must be loaded. Must have millions.'

Miranda said nothing.

'I wonder if he's got a daughter,' Bob joked, oblivious. 'I'd go after her for her money... I'd keep you as my bit on the side.'

Miranda opened the gates. 'There wouldn't be any need to do that,' she told him.

'Miranda, what are you doing? There will probably be guard dogs and all sorts. Oh, I see...'

'Night, Bob!' she called back, laughing.

The rough concrete was pitted, so there were plenty of footholds.

The Doctor had circled round to one of the sides of the Tower that didn't have an entranceway. Then he'd started to climb, as swiftly and silently as he could. He'd counted thirty-three storeys. He wasn't going to ascend quite that far he was just looking for the right place.

He peered into the fifth-storey window. A deserted flat.

The window was on a latch, but it was pitifully easy to dislodge it. Evidently, the designers of the building hadn't thought that anyone would try to force an entry.

The Doctor eased himself through the window, dropped to the floor, as carefully as he could. That done, he tugged the string he'd looped around his wrist, hauling his briefcase up from the ground floor. Once that was safely inside, he slid the window shut.

The room smelled of damp, cigarettes and chip fat. It had been stripped bare by the council, and no squatters had found a use for it since. The Doctor wouldn't be staying long.

The Doctor put his briefcase down, opened the door a crack and looked out on to the landing. As he suspected, there was a single guard, in the same uniform as the one on the ground floor. This one was facing away from him, peering (a little half-heartedly, the Doctor thought) down the stairs.

The Doctor crept out, up behind the guard, put his neck in an armlock, and kept it there for not a second longer than he had to. The guard was unconscious.

The Doctor dragged him into the room to strip him of his uniform. At first, he was worried the man was too heavy and it would make too much noise, but it was easier than he'd thought.

The Doctor slipped his own coat off, undid the guard's uniform (an odd type of fastener, a lot like the one some freezer bags had, he noted), and pulled it off. He yanked the helmet off. The guard was a young man, blond.

The Doctor put the uniform and helmet on. There was a belt, too it had useful things on it like a radio and what looked like a Psion organiser.

He propped up the man by the window, draping his coat over him to keep him warm.

Stepping back on to the landing, the Doctor checked the settings on the guard's rifle, then fired it a couple of times into the air. As the energy bolts were flying he was already shouting.

'The Doctor! He's here! Intruder on the fifth floor!' The helmet turned his voice into a shrill electronic bark.

He fired a couple more times, then started running around, stomping his feet.

The speed of response was impressive: a guard came running up the stairs, just as another appeared from the floor above.

'In there!' the Doctor shouted, 'I heard him climb in.'

'You've seen him?'

'I've got him pinned down. He's through that door.'

The two guards levelled their guns and fired. The door burst into splintering slats.

'He's there!' one of the guards shouted, before the dust had settled.

The Doctor winced as they both opened fire on the guard. They sprayed the room, not just the man. The wall behind him cracked and blew out, the window frame cras.h.i.+ng down to the ground below. The guard fared no better three shots to the chest, at least one to the head. The force of the barrage pushed him out of the hole in the wall.

He always seemed to lose his best coats fighting these people.

The Doctor had a momentary panic, but a tap to his trouser pocket a.s.sured him that he hadn't left his car keys in his coat.

Before the guard had hit the ground, the Doctor was already climbing the stairs, two or three at a time. Other guards were coming, paying him little attention as they clambered downstairs, eager to be in on the kill.

An earpiece in his helmet that he hadn't known was there started to bark instructions at him, helpfully telling him exactly where all the guards were going or heading. The Doctor was sure it was the Deputy giving the orders.

It was a long climb, but he went unchallenged. The upper floors weren't as well guarded from the tenth to the twenty-fifth, there was no one. The Doctor guessed there had been about a dozen guards. All military men, all trained to use their equipment. This wasn't a gang of mercenaries from this time the Deputy had obviously managed to get through to his own people. They could have hoverdiscs or even things like Mr Gibson at their disposal. In here, those two weapons wouldn't be much use to them, but they had had time to prepare this place he couldn't take anything for granted.

The Doctor hadn't quite worked out yet how he would escape: he was still concentrating on finding Debbie.

There was a door ahead. Two guards, watching him. But the door itself fascinated the Doctor. It was solid metal, the same stuff the Prefect's saucer had been made from.

The Doctor lifted up his briefcase. 'The Doctor was carrying this, I've brought it for the Deputy to inspect.'

They let him through, both of them having to key a control on their wrists to unlock the door.

This was the original structure of the building, but on the upper floors, things had been altered. They'd renovated the place for their own purposes, built themselves a base of operations. The floors and ceilings were solid metal, the walls were thick plastic. There was no obvious source of light, but there was a harsh glare, like standing out in the desert sun. All around was the familiar electronic pulsing sound that had permeated the saucer, a sound the Doctor had completely forgotten about.

A woman in long grey robes walked past, bowing her head as she did.

A thought struck the Doctor.

'Excuse me,' he asked the woman suddenly worrying he was being too polite 'where is the female prisoner?'

'We've just moved her to Room Twelve-Kappa. Fourth door on the left,' she replied, her voice without emotion. Perhaps she was a robot, he thought as she drifted away.

That would make her easier to kill, wouldn't it?

The Doctor sighed. He'd let a man die in his place. Not a nice man, in all probability, but just a man doing his job. Perhaps it was the uniform. Wearing this sleek, imposing uniform, with a helmet that hid his face, and a heavy rifle in his hand, the Doctor didn't feel as accountable. No one would know who he was in this.

Disgusted with himself, the Doctor dropped the rifle, pulled the helmet off, shook his head until his hair was loose.

He had reached the fourth door on the left. There wasn't even a guard on it. There was a touch control. As he tapped it, a box on his belt buzzed some sort of electronic key, proving he was authorised? Whatever the case, the door slid open.

The Doctor stepped in, cautious, checking his blind spots.

The room was little more than bare metal. Debbie was lying on the bed, a handcuff on each wrist, splaying her into a Y shape. She had a piece of duct tape over her mouth.

The Doctor hurried over, sat down on the bed, put the briefcase down on the floor and carefully eased the tape off.

'We must stop meeting like this,' he told her softly.

Debbie had been crying. 'They killed Barry,' she told him.

The Doctor held her. 'I'm sorry.' He paused, then, 'I'll get you free with the sonic suitcase.'

He pulled the briefcase up on to the bed, opened it up, flicked a switch. There was an ultrasonic screech and the handcuffs fell away.

'It works,' Debbie said, grabbing the Doctor, hugging him. She was shaking, and started sobbing.

'We've got to get out of here,' he told her, doing up the case. He stood, went over to the door and opened it.

The Deputy was standing there, a gun in his hand.

'I thought you'd want to deal with me personally, not leave it to your guards,' the Doctor said levelly, taking a step back. 'You can let Debbie go, you have me now.'