Free Doctor Who: Planet of Fire by Peter Grimwade, British Broadcasting Corporation Page B

with a transceiver unit,’ he observed.
    ‘What is a transceiver unit?’ asked Roskal curiously.
    ‘A way of communicating with other people,’ replied the Doctor, wondering if there was a way of avoiding so many refugees in the TARDIS. ‘People who can take you away from the city before it is destroyed.’ He turned to Turlough. ‘If we can get a message through to Trion, they can send a rescue ship...’
    ‘No!’ screamed the boy, pulling the Doctor’s hand away from the transmitter. ‘Contact Trion and you’ll ruin everything!’
    The Doctor was rapidly losing patience with his companion’s eccentricity. ‘Are your compatriots so inhospitable?’ he demanded.
    How Turlough now wished he had swallowed his pride and explained his predicament to the Doctor the moment he had heard that first transmission from the ship’s distress beacon. ‘The Custodians will move in,’ he stammered. ‘Escape will be impossible.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’
    Turlough did not hear the Doctor’s question. He was staring, mesmerised, at a silver pendant on Malkon’s neck.
     
    ‘Where did you get that?’ His finger pointed accusingly at the object.
    ‘It is nothing,’ answered the young man, startled at such intense interest. ‘A Chosen One has many gifts.’
    ‘There are more like this?’ cried Turlough.
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Show me!’
    Exasperated as he was with his companion’s behaviour, the Doctor was dismayed to see him leaving the Hall, together with the nominal leader of the Sarns. He didn’t fancy organising the embarkation of the entire citizenry single-handed. ‘Turlough!’ he shouted after the retreating boy. ‘I need your help.’
    Turlough gave a guilty look back at the Doctor, but did not stop. ‘You don’t understand,’ he shouted. ‘My father was on that ship!’
    Malkon took Turlough straight to his apartments in the pagoda where the Doctor’s companion instantly recognised the burnished metal case in which were kept the gaudy items that the Elders had presented to their Chosen One.
    ‘A bonded flight box!’ he shouted, forcing open the lid of the container to reveal a jackdaw’s nest of stolen pieces.
    ‘All these objects are from a Trion ship,’ exclaimed Turlough as he dipped into the gimcrack treasure chest and selected three tear-shaped drops of platinum, each on a thin wire chain. ‘The identity tabs of a shuttle crew!’
    ‘I don’t understand,’ said Malkon, perplexed.
    ‘Where did they come from?’
    Malkon shrugged. ‘I have had them since I was a child.’
    A wild suspicion inplanted itself in Turlough’s mind.
    ‘Malkon, where do you come from?’ he asked the boy.
    ‘I come from the fire,’ answered Malkon simply.
    Turlough’s suspicion grew stronger. ‘Why do they call you the Chosen One?’
    ‘I carry the mark of Logar.’
    ‘Show me.’
     
    As Malkon pulled back the sleeve of his tunic Turlough gave a small cry. ‘The Misos Triangle!’ On the younger boy’s arm was branded the motif from the cylinder and Turlough now knew where he had seen Malkon before.
    ‘Take me to to the fire where you were found!’ he shouted.
    Malkon was appalled. ‘Impossible. That is forbidden land. Trespassers are sent for burning.’
    ‘I order you,’ said Turlough defiantly.
    Malkon scowled. ‘No one can order a Chosen One.’
    Turlough rolled up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal the same double triangle, seared on his upper arm. ‘Except another Chosen One!’ he whispered to the startled child.
    There was great excitment in the Hall of Fire when the Doctor switched on the transceiver he had found in the ornamental wreckage. The Doctor, however, was less enchanted than the childlike Sarns by the babbling atmospherics that came from the communications unit.
    ‘We need more power,’ he muttered, wishing Turlough was there to lend a hand with repairs.
    Sorasta, who had been keeping an anxious vigil at the entrance steps, pushed her way through the curious