Doctor Who: Ribos Operation by Ian Marter, British Broadcasting Corporation Page A

Doctor said, turning to her with a broad smile. Then he
answered Garron’s question with a casual shrug: ‘Oh we’re just
here on holiday, but we seem to keep getting caught up in
things...’
    ‘Things which do not in the least concern us,’ Romana
snapped, examining the Locatormutor for any sign of damage.
    ‘Indeed,’ the Doctor agreed, jumping to his feet. ‘We really
ought to be moving on. However there doesn’t appear to be a
convenient window, the chimney is much too hot to climb and
our Round Table friends outside sound rather...’
    The Doctor stopped in mid-sentence and listened to the
muffled noise of activity suddenly penetrating through the
sturdy wooden door. Pulling out his ear trumpet, he crept over
and applied its tarnished horn to the gap running between the
hinges. He listened as Sholakh briefed the Levithian Guards,
telling them that the Shrieves planned to raid the Concourse
again at dawn and that the Graff’s forces would be expected to
recover the Jethryk and the gold. ‘We shall vanish before they
realise what hit them,’ he concluded. ‘Rakol, Norka and Krolon
will guard the prisoners until the operation is completed. At our
signal, execute them.’
    The Doctor crept away from the door and told the others
what he had overheard.
    ‘So we have until dawn,’ Romana murmured. ‘Which must
be almost upon us,’ the Doctor frowned. ‘I do hope that K9
hasn’t fallen asleep.’
    Eventually Garron broke the gloomy silence which had
descended on the three prisoners. ‘If only we had some
bargaining power!’ he exclaimed, thumping the table. With a

gasp of pain he thrust his injured hand under the other arm to
ease the sudden throbbing. ‘If I still had the radio I could warn
the boy,’ he winced. ‘As long as he stays free we have something
to negotiate with...’
    The Doctor rummaged through the remains of the tiny
device scattered on the table. ‘I’m afraid you made far too good
a job of it,’ he sighed.
    Suddenly Garron jumped up, the pain seemingly gone. He
hurried to the chimney, felt about and held up the bugging
receiver. ‘A little something I rigged up to keep an eye on my
customer; he explained.
    In one bound the Doctor crossed the chamber and snatched
the device from Garron’s plump fingers. ‘All we need now is a
call-up circuit so that we can attract Unstoffe’s attention,’ he
muttered excitedly. He took out his magnifier and studied the
bug carefully, then he sat down at the table and started sorting
through the fragments from Garron’s radio set,
    ‘Search the floor... search in every crack and bring use any
pieces you can find—however small,’ the Doctor instructed.
Then with nimble fingers he began to dismantle the bugging
receiver. ‘I assume that Unstoffe’s two-way is on the same
wavelength as this gadget?’ he suddenly asked.
    Garron nodded. He and Romana knelt down and eagerly
started searching the chamber floor for the vital components.
    They soon managed to salvage quite a few usable pieces
from the shattered wrist set and they watched anxiously as the
Doctor worked feverishly to adapt the bugging device into a
transmitter.
    ‘Of course I can’t promise that this little lash-up will work,’
the Doctor murmured, trying to twist several tiny platinum wires
together with his large fingers. ‘However, since we have no
receiver we shan’t know whether Unstoffe can hear us or not.’
    ‘It must he dawn by now,’ Romana breathed. Garron
nodded grimly and gave her a faintly sympathetic smile.
    ‘Put your little finger just there, my dear,’ the Doctor
muttered, indicating a complex knot of wires with his tweezers.
Romana obliged while the Doctor made the final connections.
    ‘Now, keep your fingers crossed—not you, Romana,’ he
frowned, bridging two sets, of contacts with the tweezers for
several seconds. ‘There. That should have caught his attention,’
the Doctor said, removing the tweezers. ‘You’d better talk to him
Garron—he knows your