want net!'
19
Star Struck!
Self-recrimination scourged Ikona as he watched Urak and the Tetraps emerge boisterously from the Centre of Leisure.
Despite taking a short cut, Ikona had not been able to warn his compatriots of the impending invasion. That his forebodings were well-founded, he had no doubts. The exuberant cavorting and splashing of the loutish creatures traversing the brook, were all the confirmation needed.
Grandly, Urak distributed silver bangles among the troop. 'Naf tuo . . . uoy era erawa
. . . fo eht stnuah eseht . . . elbacipsed . . . snaytrekaL . . . tneuqerf. . . ' (By simply reversing the Tetrapyriarban language, this would read: 'Fan out. . . you are aware . .
. of the haunts these . . . despicable . . . Lakertyans . . . frequent.') Braying the equivalent of Tetrapian tally-hos, the winged bipeds rombed cumbersomely into the hunt.
But without their leader. His own malice assuaged, Urak set off for the laboratory complex.
Bracing himself to expect the worst, Ikona went into the Centre of Leisure.
Crestfallen and downcast, mourning Lakertyans presented a tableau of grief.
Averting his gaze from the slain female, Ikona looked to where Faroon was consoling Aragon, an elderly sage who fiddled with a too-tight bangle.
'Don't touch it, Aragon,' Faroon counselled, massaging his leg to ease the pain.
'How much longer must we endure this humiliation?' he quavered.
'As long as Beyus instructs us to . . .'
Ikona did not try to capitalise on Faroon's lack of conviction. A call to mutiny would be an invitation to suicide. Any hopes of salvation now had to be vested in that unpredictable knight errant in a panama hat -the Doctor.
'Once more into the breach!' The misquoting Time Lord poked his head into the rocket launcher's breech.
Despite Mel's entreaties to get clear, he had trotted directly for the spherical chamber.
‘I told Ikona this had a fixed trajectory. If I'm right, I can guess the target.'
'Before this regeneration you were keen on cats. And you know what curiosity did to them!'
‘I should leave the quotes to the expert,' advised the Doctor, designating himself the expert!
'Fixed trajectory, sure enough,' he said, pulling his head clear of the breech.
'It isn't all that'll be fixed if we don't get out of here!'
The Doctor rested his elbows on the rail circling the mammoth brain. The purple rivulets trickled more sluggishly than when he was on stream, and the sheath of nerves quivered only occasionally.
His abstracted air belied the inner dialogue that saddened him. During his many existences, and on his wanderings through Time and Space, he had seen wonders that filled him with awe. Now, perhaps, he was in audience with the most spectacular of all.
His own brain, like that of every Time Lord, was the ultimate refinement of cosmic evolution. Yet the pulsating reproduction devised by the Rani was a thousandfold greater.
As always, his sadness came from the conviction that her superb ingenuity would add to, rather than alleviate, suffering.
'The Rani's pillaged the universe for the most creative geniuses,' he mused, tipping his hat off his forehead. 'Original thinkers who are capable of making the leap in the dark. Why? Why?'
'Well, she's not infallible,' retorted Mel. 'She made the mistake of trying to use you!'
'You're missing the point.' His irascibility was an expression of self-inadequacy. In quick, fussed movements, he explored a mechanism that comprised a hopper and a crucible.
'Then share the secret. Enlighten me,' taunted Mel.
'Trying to use me was a desperate gamble. So why take it?'
'Conceit,' concluded Mel. 'Blind vanity.'
'Wrong. Don't underestimate her. That could be fatal.'
'Well - oh, I don't know. She was pressed for time.'
'Exactly! I'm sure this planet's solstice is the deadline. And I'm positive that asteroid is the target.'
A bossed beading extruding from the wall had been intriguing him. 'Hmmm - he who dares,
19
Star Struck!
Self-recrimination scourged Ikona as he watched Urak and the Tetraps emerge boisterously from the Centre of Leisure.
Despite taking a short cut, Ikona had not been able to warn his compatriots of the impending invasion. That his forebodings were well-founded, he had no doubts. The exuberant cavorting and splashing of the loutish creatures traversing the brook, were all the confirmation needed.
Grandly, Urak distributed silver bangles among the troop. 'Naf tuo . . . uoy era erawa
. . . fo eht stnuah eseht . . . elbacipsed . . . snaytrekaL . . . tneuqerf. . . ' (By simply reversing the Tetrapyriarban language, this would read: 'Fan out. . . you are aware . .
. of the haunts these . . . despicable . . . Lakertyans . . . frequent.') Braying the equivalent of Tetrapian tally-hos, the winged bipeds rombed cumbersomely into the hunt.
But without their leader. His own malice assuaged, Urak set off for the laboratory complex.
Bracing himself to expect the worst, Ikona went into the Centre of Leisure.
Crestfallen and downcast, mourning Lakertyans presented a tableau of grief.
Averting his gaze from the slain female, Ikona looked to where Faroon was consoling Aragon, an elderly sage who fiddled with a too-tight bangle.
'Don't touch it, Aragon,' Faroon counselled, massaging his leg to ease the pain.
'How much longer must we endure this humiliation?' he quavered.
'As long as Beyus instructs us to . . .'
Ikona did not try to capitalise on Faroon's lack of conviction. A call to mutiny would be an invitation to suicide. Any hopes of salvation now had to be vested in that unpredictable knight errant in a panama hat -the Doctor.
'Once more into the breach!' The misquoting Time Lord poked his head into the rocket launcher's breech.
Despite Mel's entreaties to get clear, he had trotted directly for the spherical chamber.
‘I told Ikona this had a fixed trajectory. If I'm right, I can guess the target.'
'Before this regeneration you were keen on cats. And you know what curiosity did to them!'
‘I should leave the quotes to the expert,' advised the Doctor, designating himself the expert!
'Fixed trajectory, sure enough,' he said, pulling his head clear of the breech.
'It isn't all that'll be fixed if we don't get out of here!'
The Doctor rested his elbows on the rail circling the mammoth brain. The purple rivulets trickled more sluggishly than when he was on stream, and the sheath of nerves quivered only occasionally.
His abstracted air belied the inner dialogue that saddened him. During his many existences, and on his wanderings through Time and Space, he had seen wonders that filled him with awe. Now, perhaps, he was in audience with the most spectacular of all.
His own brain, like that of every Time Lord, was the ultimate refinement of cosmic evolution. Yet the pulsating reproduction devised by the Rani was a thousandfold greater.
As always, his sadness came from the conviction that her superb ingenuity would add to, rather than alleviate, suffering.
'The Rani's pillaged the universe for the most creative geniuses,' he mused, tipping his hat off his forehead. 'Original thinkers who are capable of making the leap in the dark. Why? Why?'
'Well, she's not infallible,' retorted Mel. 'She made the mistake of trying to use you!'
'You're missing the point.' His irascibility was an expression of self-inadequacy. In quick, fussed movements, he explored a mechanism that comprised a hopper and a crucible.
'Then share the secret. Enlighten me,' taunted Mel.
'Trying to use me was a desperate gamble. So why take it?'
'Conceit,' concluded Mel. 'Blind vanity.'
'Wrong. Don't underestimate her. That could be fatal.'
'Well - oh, I don't know. She was pressed for time.'
'Exactly! I'm sure this planet's solstice is the deadline. And I'm positive that asteroid is the target.'
A bossed beading extruding from the wall had been intriguing him. 'Hmmm - he who dares,
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