But that was in the past. Centuries of heavy industry had ruined the moon’s environment, and it was now swept by cataclysmic storms and intensely corrosive acid rain.
As far as the Doctor knew, since Gorgoror had been abandoned, about thirty years earlier, it had become a hellish wasteland littered with toxic ruins.
‘The old installations that cover Gorgoror are derelict but they’re still accessible,’ Zalu said. ‘They’re connected to each other by miles of tunnels.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’ the Doctor asked.
‘Gorgoror is Krauzzen’s new playground. He takes
captives and releases them into these ruins. He then lets loose parties of big-game hunters - bored rich men who have paid for the privilege.’
‘Privilege?’ Despite everything he’d seen and done in his many lives, the Doctor’s hair was suddenly prickling.
‘Ah, you mean the privilege of stalking human prey?’
‘Any prey that’s rational, able to run. Anything that makes a good moving target. It seems mainly to be humans.’
‘So, hang on, Zalu…’ Fleetingly, the Doctor had trouble keeping his temper. ‘You know all about this. And yet you sit in your office, doing nothing?’
‘Krauzzen is beyond our reach.’
‘Gorgoror is less than half a day’s flight from here!’
‘It’s not a matter of distance. It’s a matter of legalities.’
‘Legalities?’
‘Look… Central Government considers that these crime syndicates have a role to play. To start with they provide recreational activities for our Outer Rim workforce.’
‘And I guess, while these gangs are occupied on the Outer Rim, they aren’t bothering anyone on the Inner Rim or, heaven forbid, on Torodon itself?’
‘That too. Several years ago, Central Government issued a directive that as long as Torodon nationals are not being victimised by these racketeers, law enforcement must leave them be.’
‘And does that work for you when you go home in the evening, Zalu?’ the Doctor wondered, backing away.
‘Because it wouldn’t work for me.’
‘Doctor, listen…’
‘Tell you what. You continue clock-watching, Zalu…
Round up the odd drunk, arrest the occasional pickpocket.
I’ll go after the real criminals.’
‘Doctor…’
The Doctor turned to leave, but found his path blocked by a female police officer carrying a curious-looking rifle; blue pulses of light passed up and down its transparent barrel.
‘Meet Point-Sergeant Xelos,’ Zalu said.
‘Ah yes…’ The Doctor gave a wry smile. ‘The one who watches a lot of telly.’
Sergeant Xelos responded by pushing the rifle into the Doctor’s hands.
‘I don’t use guns,’ he said, pushing it back.
‘You’re going to have to if you want to help your friends,’ Zalu said, taking the gun himself, and forcing it into the Doctor’s possession. ‘There’s only one way you’re going to get the better of Xorg Krauzzen’s organisation.’
‘And how’s that?’ the Doctor asked.
‘You’ve got to join it.’
Amy was very grateful that she didn’t suffer from claustrophobia.
It only occurred to her once she was inside the aluminium crate that she might be in there for some time.
At first she was thrown around wildly, then everything went still and she realised that she was on board the transport craft. She tried to push off the lid, only to find that it was held in place by another crate placed on top of it. At this realisation, it was a struggle to fight down panic. But she held her nerve, waiting tensely and quietly, listening to the hum of a high-powered engine. Several hours passed before she heard a clunk and felt a vibration.
She was a seasoned enough space traveller to recognise when the craft she was riding on had made contact with another. After a short time, there were voices, and more rough handling.
She realised that she was being brought aboard the aforementioned Ellipsis, almost certainly to be placed inside a much larger cargo hold. If they pinned the lid down here, it could be days, weeks, maybe months before they opened it again. The first instant they set her down, she knew she’d have to move. The crate then went still, as though left in a corner. Amy pushed against the lid.
It lifted a crack and she peered out. As she’d envisioned, she seemed to be on a cargo deck - its metal floor was stacked with boxes, barrels and other metal containers. A spiral stair rose to a catwalk overhead. There was nobody moving. She couldn’t hear anyone speaking.
She lifted the lid, and tried to clamber out, but her limbs were cramped and numb. She dropped the lid onto the floor, where it clattered. She fell to a crouch, her gaze darting in all directions. There was still no sign of anybody else. The hold was a tall, vaulted chamber, but long and narrow. She risked standing up and looked down to its far end, where a forklift was scuttling around and several figures were humping items off a conveyor belt. All their backs were to her.
She turned to run.
And found Xaaael standing behind her.
‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘if it isn’t the one who wears the trousers in her relationships.’
‘Where’s Rory?’ Amy snapped. ‘If you’ve hurt him.
‘What?’ Xaaael chuckled. ‘If we’ve hurt him… what?’
Amy had the urge to blurt out that maybe she couldn’t do anything, but that she had a friend who would be on his way right now - but it didn’t seem like a good idea to warn them in advance about the Doctor. Not that there was any guarantee the Doctor was coming. After all, he didn’t have the TARDIS.
She eyed the nearest pile of crates. A passage led
behind it, probably connecting with more passages weaving through the stacks of cargo. It was only a metre or so away. If she could just elude this character long enough to…
‘Uh-uh!’ Xaaael said, producing a handgun from his hip. ‘You’ve noticed that we’re not on LP9 any more.
The rules regarding ordnance don’t apply here. This, for example… This is a photon-pistol. It discharges a mass of minuscule but energised particles, which travel at such velocity that all matter in their path is annihilated.’
Amy knew that he was trying to frighten her. He had her down as a tough cookie, and he was seeking to cow her, to which there was only one response.
‘So is this it?’ she asked, planting hands on hips. T was told you were a top-class criminal. But all I’m seeing is someone who cheats in the gambling hall and points guns at women.’
He aimed the weapon directly at her face. ‘It doesn’t have to end with pointing.’
‘Xaaael! ‘ came a voice from overhead.
They glanced up and saw a figure leaning over the catwalk barrier.
‘What’s happening there?’
‘We have a stowaway, my lord,’ Xaaael replied.
The other man descended the spiral stair, and approached. He moved lithely, Amy thought - with the grace of a panther. He was wearing black vinyl boots and trousers, but also a shirt of billowing orange silk, fixed around his waist with a crimson sash - it was a vaguely piratical look. His white hair was long, but hung in a neat ponytail. Despite his cobalt eyes and silver skin, he was startlingly handsome. His face was so smooth, so chiselled, so finely featured that it might have been fake.
‘A stowaway?’ His voice was deep, resonant.
‘She slipped aboard my Raptor-Bird on LP9,’ Xaaael explained.
‘And you let her?’
‘I’ve caught her now, haven’t I?’ Xaaael spoke defiantly, but in the presence of this other man there was noticeably less swagger about him.
‘Let’s hope she hasn’t got twenty more friends you’ve missed.’
‘She’s only got one: the human we brought from LP9.’
‘I happen to be his wife,’ Amy stated.
The newcomer regarded her with interest. ‘You should have brought he
r originally, Xaaael. It would have made a novel twist, a man protecting his wife.’
‘I’m right in front of you!’ Amy said. ‘You can speak to me, if you want to.’
But the newcomer continued to speak about her, and what he said next chilled her to the marrow. ‘Shame to waste her on a routine hunt. We should put her in the one after next. We can advertise more widely, and charge a special rate for a kill of this quality.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she demanded. ‘Why have you brought us here?’
‘Save this one till later, Xaaael. But don’t put her in the holding cells. I don’t want her spoiling. Give her a job.’
‘A job, my lord?’
‘In the Salon. We can always use another cocktail waitress.’
Xaaael took Amy by the wrist. ‘You don’t know how lucky you are. But don’t get too comfortable. Luck has a
habit of running out on the Ellipsis.’
‘This is one of the old CIO Interceptors,’ Zalu said, almost proudly.
He and the Doctor were inside a hangar to the rear of the Police HQ. In front of them sat a large, bat-winged spacecraft. Its sleek shape and the black heatproof tile-work with which several police engineers were carefully covering it, reminded him of the stealth fighters used on Earth.
‘They were employed for pursuing gunrunners operating between the Outer Rim and the Inner Rim,’
Zalu explained. ‘The series was decommissioned half a century ago. But this one’s in good condition.’
‘Just what I need,’ the Doctor said. ‘An antique.’
‘I’m loaning you this vehicle because Krauzzen probably won’t recognise it.’
‘Probably?’
Zalu shrugged. ‘You can never be totally sure. That’s why I’m disguising it.’
Originally, the Interceptor had been white in colour and covered with official markings. The black tiles weren’t just to resist the heat of interplanetary travel.
The basic plan was for the Doctor to pilot himself to the Ellipsis, and, on arrival, pretend to be a wealthy playboy looking to buy his way into the next ‘fun hunt’. The Doctor had no money of course - something which never ceased to amaze Zalu (‘How you can get around the average supermarket, never mind the cosmos, without needing to spend cash, is beyond me!’). So a steel briefcase sat at his feet, containing Torodon tender to the tune of three million par-creds, which Zalu’s officers had recently confiscated from a gang of conmen working the casinos.
The money would, in due course, need to be exhibited for evidence, so it was imperative that the Doctor returned it safely. There was no doubt that so much money would be enough to persuade Krauzzen to make room for him on the next hunt - the going rate was 500,000 par-creds (partly refundable if you brought down sufficient ‘game’
to impress Krauzzen himself). However, like all criminal gangs, the syndicate were wary of being infiltrated by government agents, and would demand that he prove his credentials. This was where the transmat-rifle - the weapon given to him by Sergeant Xelos - came in.
‘This is advanced stuff,’ Zalu warned the Doctor, showing him how to prime the surprisingly light weapon.
‘In fact, we’re still trialling it. This one’s a prototype.’
‘I’ve already said, I don’t use guns.’
‘But Krauzzen and his people do, and if you want them to trust you, you’ve got to at least be carrying one.’
‘I don’t like guns.’
‘There’s nothing in the transmat-rifle to dislike. It was specifically developed to apply non-lethal force.’
Zalu put it to his shoulder, taking aim at one of the techs working on the Interceptor. The tech noticed, but was unconcerned. Zalu indicated the sights, which contained a tiny frame in which a green image of the target was emblazoned.
‘Use this electroscopic sight, Doctor, and you can’t miss. But any target you hit, though it will look as if it’s been disintegrated, will actually have been teleported to a secure police cell here on LP9.’ He handed the weapon over. ‘Of course, Krauzzen won’t know that.’
‘Portable transmat technology,’ the Doctor replied,
impressed. ‘Is the transmat range good for Gorgoror?’
‘It’s good for the entire Outer Rim,’ Zalu said. ‘I’d let you test it now, but as I say, it’s still in development. It’s only capable of delivering three payloads before needing a safety diagnostic. Discharge it after that and it may really disintegrate its targets.’
The Doctor inspected the weapon. It had a folding barrel, and a vinyl strap, by which it could be carried.
He slung it over his shoulder then picked up the case of money. ‘Well… a-hunting we will go.’
In the cockpit, there were arrays of complex controls.
One of Zalu’s techs leaned through the open canopy and explained some of the more difficult manoeuvres, only to be surprised at how much the Doctor already knew.
‘It’s all a bit rushed,’ came Zalu’s voice through the com-link. ‘But I’m afraid time isn’t on your side. You’re cleared for take-off, so whenever you’re ready.’
‘I don’t often admit this,’ the Doctor said, ‘but I could still use some help.’
‘I’m going out on a limb doing this much for you.’
‘That’s another reason you were disguising the ship, wasn’t it? Deniability?’
Zalu paused, before saying: ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’
The Doctor hit various switches, powering up the hyperdrive.
‘Remember, Doctor, the transmat-rifle can only be used three times. After that, who knows what’ll happen.’
‘Like you said,’ the Doctor replied, ‘let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.’
‘Where are we?’ Sophie whimpered, clinging to Andrei.
Their captors had herded them into a group, wielding rods with glowing orbs at the end, which Harry had come to think of as ‘punch-sticks’, given that mere contact with one of those orbs inflicted a severe body blow. A circular hatch slid back, and they were driven along a cylindrical passage made from glowing fabric. As they proceeded, they experienced suction and even weight loss. Soon they were tumbling, unable to stop themselves. At the far end, they crammed into a sealed chamber, before another circular door opened and they were admitted into a spacious area constructed from bare, pewter-coloured metal. The atmosphere and gravity in here were normal, though various tables and chairs had been bolted to the floor. Further doors stood open on small, cubicle-like compartments.
The entry slid closed behind them, and they were alone.
‘What is this?’ Sophie said again, small-voiced with .
fear.
‘This is the Ellipsis,’ someone replied. A figure emerged from one of the cubicles. ‘A Torodon star-cruiser adapted into a fortified residence.’
The newcomer was youngish with spiky, red hair and a hatchet-nose. He looked pale and drawn, and was wearing a bloodstained bandage around his brow.
Harry looked at him askance. ‘Are you saying we’re…’
‘Don’t ask idiot questions like are we in space or have we been abducted by aliens,’ the newcomer replied. ‘It’s surely obvious that’s what’s happened?’
‘Star-cruiser?’ Harry’s tone suggested the mere idea was ridiculous.
Rory eyed the burly, bearded man in front of him, wondering if he was pretending to be stupid or if this was his natural state.
‘Who are you?’ Andrei asked.
‘The name’s Rory Williams. I’m a prisoner. Just like you.’
‘Why’ve they taken us?’ Dora demanded.
Rory shrugged, focusing on Andrei, and noting that he and several others had rucksacks with them. ‘You people look like you were expecting to travel?’
‘We were expecting to travel to the UK,’ Andrei explained. ‘To find work.’
Rory rubbed his chin. ‘So that’s how they’ve been doing it.’
‘Doing what?’ Harry asked.
Befor
e Rory could answer, there was a pneumatic hisss, and a section of ceiling lowered itself. Three
Torodon, including the semi-mechanical giant, Zarbotan, were standing on it. He carried a massive Perspex trough filled with a sludgy grey paste. The other two Torodon were carrying punch-sticks. The elevator-pad touched down and everyone flocked towards it, demanding explanations.
‘Silence!’ Zarbotan boomed in his bell-like voice.
‘Your questions will be answered in due course. In the meantime, eat!’
He dumped the trough on a central table. Up close, the grey sludge looked even more revolting.
‘What is this stuff?’ Harry asked.
‘Synthetic protein,’ Zarbotan replied.
‘Synthetic!’ Sophie said, backing away. ‘I only eat organic.’
Zarbotan was indifferent. ‘It’s your choice. But it will give you energy, and energy is something you’ll soon need.’ He turned back to the elevator-pad.
‘Hey!’ Harry said. ‘You don’t need my wife and daughter. I’m the one who messed up. Take me. Surely that’ll solve this problem?’ Zarbotan ignored him. Harry ran after him, clamping a hand to his shoulder. ‘Damn it, listen to me!’
Zarbotan spun around with a speed that belied his massive bulk, and jabbed Harry in the belly with a punch-stick. There was a flash and crackle, and Harry was hurled backwards, landing on the rugged metal floor as if he’d been kicked by a horse.
‘I also advise that you take no action necessitating reprisals,’ Zarbotan said. ‘You will soon require the full integrity of your bodies. Eat! You have five minutes.’
‘Until what?’ Dora demanded, kneeling beside her
groaning husband.
Zarbotan didn’t reply. He and his sidekicks stepped onto the elevator-pad, and it re-ascended.
‘H-hey!’ Harry stammered groggily. ‘You… can’t leave us…’ He struggled back to his feet, but their captors were already out of reach.
Rory watched as the pad vanished through the ceiling, slotting so perfectly into the oval aperture that a join was scarcely visible. He turned to the table. ‘We should do as he said and try to eat something.’
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