Part 7 (2/2)

By cannibalising various bits from the main console, the Doctor had managed to build or, more accurately, cobble together, the necessary components.

Whether they worked remained to be seen. Although Peri had dematerialised, she could in fact have been anywhere, in any condition, and that included being dead. But wherever she was and whatever state she was in, the Doctor would soon be joining her.

As the timer on the self-destruct device entered the last sixty seconds of its countdown, the Time Lord entered the revitalising modulator, set the controls and waited.

Nothing happened.

Frantically he checked the wiring for loose connections but found nothing. He then checked the master control - again nothing.

The countdown was now into its last thirty seconds.

As quickly as his shaking hands and panic-stricken mind would allow, the Doctor carefully rechecked his handywork, but still couldn't find the fault.

Finally, fraught with frustration and anger, he allowed his natural instinct as a trained and experienced scientist to take over. With all the energy and pa.s.sion of a lecherous stallion he gave the revitalising modulator the heftiest kick the weight and strength of his leg would allow.

If that didn't work, then nothing would.

Again the Doctor clambered into the cabinet, sealed the door and threw the main switch. This time he was reduced to a sea of sparkling light, then he slowly faded.

It had worked!

No sooner had he gone than the timer on the self-destruct mechanism reached zero, made an electrical connection and exploded, causing the building to vaporise.

Gone was the finest library this side of Magna Twenty-eight. Gone was the most complicated cooker ever built in the history of the universe. Gone were the ghosts of the demented souls who had built and originally occupied the dome. Gone was the computer containing their last, tortured literary jottings.

Gone was everything to do with the dome on t.i.tan Three.

It its place appeared a large, deep crater which was soon filled with grey dust.

Meanwhile at the TARDIS, two areas of s.p.a.ce were filled by the Doctor and Peri materialising in the console room.

Bemused and a little insulted, as neither of the sudden arrivals even bothered to say h.e.l.lo, Lieutenant Hugo Lang watched as the Time Lord and his companion scuttled about the console room, flicking switches, pressing b.u.t.tons and generally getting in each other's way.

'What are you doing?' he said at last.

The Doctor glanced at the intergalactic policeman and, for a moment, wondered who he was. Seeing Hugo's confused look, Peri piped: 'Going to Jaconda.'

'Why?'

'Do you always ask so many questions?' snapped the Doctor.

T'm a policeman. It's an occupational disease.' Then find a cure for it. We have work to do.' And with that said, the Doctor pressed the dematerialisation switch and the time rotor juddered into motion.

8.

JACONDA THE BEAUTIFUL!.

Azmael sat on the bridge of his freighter and furtively brushed a tear from his eye. Displayed on the monitor before him was a computer a.n.a.lysis of the explosion that had occured shortly after their departure from t.i.tan Three.

Next to him stood the twins who were bristling with indignation.

They had just witnessed a heated conversation between Azmael and Noma which had made them very angry.

Although they had not met the Doctor and Peri, the news of the way their lives had been casually wasted by Noma had hurt and outraged them. Although part of their anger was motivated by the fear that they too might be disposed of in an equally offhand way, they had also felt a genuine compa.s.sion, fury and indignation that, until now, had been quite alien to their immature minds.

What, in reality, had happened was that Noma had secretly informed Mestor of the Doctor's arrival. Concerned by the intervention of a second Time Lord, Mestor had ordered Noma to destroy the Doctor, Peri and the safe house.

Also, Mestor was still concerned that once the Earth authorities had rediscovered their nerve, they would launch an attack. As already proven, Azmael had shown a rather casual att.i.tude towards covering his tracks. With the safe house destroyed, the trail to Jaconda would end on t.i.tan Three.

Although Azmael tried to explain this, the twins weren't interested and remained resolute as to who was really to blame. As leader of the group, Azmael was responsible for the activities of each member.

As Romulus and Remus continued their verbal attack, Drak came to the elderly Time Lord's rescue with an offer of more food.

Reluctantly, the twins gave into their baser need and allowed themselves to be bustled away.

Once gone, Azmael could no longer hold back the tears. Not since the death of his dear wife had he felt such grief and despair. As he sobbed, he wondered how many more good people would have to die before Jaconda would be rid of Mestor.

Although his tears were mainly for the Doctor, they also contained a few of self pity. It was becoming obvious to Azmael that he was losing his grip on the situation. Up until recently he had always been confident that ultimately he could defeat Mestor. Yet lately the creature seemed to grow stronger, more confident and inventive by the day.

The cloud Mestor had sent to destroy the starfighters was proof of that. The technology and imagination necessary for such a feat was beyond Azmael's comprehension. Even Mestor's ability to thought-read had grown more effective, making it more and more difficult for Azmael to plot and plan. It had almost reached the point where the Time Lord felt nowhere was safe from the prying awareness of his arch-enemy.

Although the twins had been harsh and brutal in their attack on Azmael, they had in one respect, been absolutely right. He was the President of Jaconda and the responsibility for the safety and well-being of his people did lie with him. If he wasn't capable of fulfilling his duties, then it was right that he should resign and leave others to try and succeed in their own way.

But who would replace him? It was a thought that had constantly crossed his mind.

When Mestor and his army of gastropods had emerged from hibernation, many socially important Jacondans had rushed to join him before an angry shot had been fired. Even those who had bravely fought soon surrendered once they realised the war could drag on for years.

Civil servant, politician, merchant and financier alike had all declared their allegiance and had openly collaborated. A few had smiled to deceive their conqueror, whilst quietly working to defeat him, but they had soon been betrayed and murdered.

It is said by cynics that the shortest list of war heroes in the whole of the universe is to be found on Jaconda. Azmael learnt, to his misery, that there was more than a grain of truth in that observation.

Of course, Jacondan historians deny this, declaring that Jaconda exists to trade peacefully. It never seemed to occur to them that only free people can trade peacefully, and however much war may be despised, it is sometimes necessary, especially when invaded by a monster determined to destroy everything the planet is supposed to hold sacred.

When the Seedle warriors had come to Vitrol Minor in search of Azmael, he had been helped beyond the call of any individual's duty. While the warriors had set about murdering the populace, he had been smuggled off the planet by brave people indifferent to their own personal safety. Azmael hadn't needed to ask for such sacrifice, as each individual had offered their help willingly, only too aware that subjection to evil creates and feeds further evil.

Perhaps it was too much to expect the Jacondans to be as brave as those on Vitrol Minor, but it saddened him that the people of his adopted planet had such little self respect and awareness of their own freedom and dignity.

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