Part 11 (1/2)

He recalled Jo Grant, with her soft, pretty face, framed by her always perfectly groomed, blond hair. He remembered Tegan, Leela, Zoe and Jamie. Even Turlough, the only companion who had seriously tried to kill him, flittered in and out of images of Nyssa, Romana and Liz Shaw.

But the image that danced most frequently across the history of time was that of Adric, for he performed the most grotesque caper of all, that of the Dance of Death.

Adric who, despite possessing a mathematical skill equal to the twins, had always managed to aggravate everyone aboard the TARDIS with his childish antics denying him the thing he desired most: to be loved and accepted for what he was.

It was Adric who had been killed whilst trying to divert a freighter, controlled by the Cybermen, from cras.h.i.+ng into prehistoric Earth.

Stubborn Adric, who had refused to leave the s.h.i.+p and had given his life to help others.

It was this memory that the Doctor feared most. Not only had he been forced to stand helplessly by, but the boy had died without the Doctor ever being able to fully praise, help or ultimately like. It was these feelings that made Adric the saddest and most painful memory of all.

The Doctor shook his head as though trying to shake himself free of the unpleasant image. It wasn't the time to remember such things. He had more urgent problems to occupy his mind.

Slowly he refocussed his eyes so that his gaze pa.s.sed through the gla.s.s part.i.tion and into the hatchery beyond.

The technicians had gone and the conveyor belt was stationary.

The level of lighting had also been reduced, creating dense, eerie shadows.

The sight made the Doctor feel uneasy and he climbed to his feet, crossed to the control box situated at the side of the part.i.tion and fiddled with one of the switches.

Slowly the lights came up inside the hatchery, forcing the shadows to hide. 'What's this?'

Azmael ambled over to join the Doctor. 'Mestor's hatchery.'

'Can we get into it?'

The elderly Time Lord operated another lever on the control panel and, as the heavy part.i.tion started to rise, Peri crossed the room and joined them.

'Why do you want to go in there?' she enquired.

'I'm curious.'

Peri glanced at Azmael and hoping for his support said: 'But do we have the time?'

If Azmael agreed with the question, he didn't care to pursue it, as he remained silent.

Neither did the Doctor answer. Something was aggravating him, gnawing at the back of his mind.

With the part.i.tion fully open, the trio entered the hatchery. As they scrambled past the conveyor belt, they entered the dark cavern which was the main incubation area. It was hot and sticky and gave off a pungent, fruity smell.

As their eyes became accustomed to the gloom, it became apparent that the cavern went on for miles. Packed around its walls were millions of eggs, each one fitting neatly and precisely into a purpose-built slot.

Cautiously, the Doctor moved to one of the racks and lifted out an egg. It was the approximate size and shape of a rugby ball and weighed about one kilo. Cupping it in his hands, the Doctor seemed to be a.s.sessing the egg, trying to work out what was wrong with it. For something was missing, something that was so natural and obvious it took the Time Lord a full minute to realise what it was.

Without comment, the Doctor handed the egg to Peri and quickly moved to another rack. Carefully he felt all the eggs housed in it, and like the first one, they were dry.

'Something wrong?' enquired Peri.

There certainly is. If these are gastropod eggs, why are they dry?

Where is the mucus, the jelly, the food which nourishes the young within?'

Peri shrugged and then looked down at the egg. It certainly was dry, but then the sort of slugs she was used to didn't come two metres high and talk!

'There's something wrong,' said the Doctor, s.n.a.t.c.hing the egg from his companion. 'This may be the answer we've been looking for.'

Peri and Azmael followed as the Doctor made his way back to the laboratory area. T must see what's inside this egg,' he said placing it on a work bench. 'I shall need a laser cutter.'

Azmael rummaged momentarily in a cabinet and handed the Doctor what he wanted. The Doctor immediately set to work, allowing the white hot beam of light to focus on a single spot of the rubbery sh.e.l.l.

But nothing happened.

Strange, thought the Doctor, there must be something wrong with the cutter. But careful examination proved that it was in perfect working order. So he tried again. But still nothing happened.

'What are you trying to do?'jested Hugo. 'Hard-boil it?'

'Hardly!' The Doctor wasn't in the mood for jokes. 'The beam of the cutter is as hot as a diamond is hard. It should have at least scratched the surface.'

As the cutter continued to ineffectually blaze away at the egg, an unpleasant slurping sound was heard to come from within the sh.e.l.l.

The Doctor switched off the cutter as the sound grew momentarily louder and then more unpleasant.

'Is it going to hatch?' enquired Peri.

'I don't think so.'

And, as though to prove him right, the slurping sound stopped.

The embryo only reacted to the heat,' said Azmael.

'Precisely what it's supposed to do. Only it isn't anything like hot enough yet.'

Puzzled, Hugo glanced at Peri, but she didn't understand what he was talking about either. 'You're talking in riddles, Doctor.'

'No he isn't,' said Azmael, beginning to see what the Doctor was getting at.

'Now you're both talking in riddles,' insisted Peri. 'What is going on?'

How best to explain an intuitive leap, whose inspiration stems from tiny disparate events and observations? It was possible he was wrong, but the rea.s.surance of Azmael's concurrence made it unlikely.

The Doctor was also aware that Peri and Hugo's own scepticism wouldn't help them to believe what he was about to tell them, especially after his eccentric behaviour since his regeneration.

But did it matter? Did any of it matter? Right or wrong in his a.s.sumption, Mestor had to be stopped.