Free Doctor Who: The Leisure Hive by David Fisher

business elsewhere. Isn't there any way—?'
    The guide was sorry, but only a priority clearance from the Heresiarch herself could wangle him as an extra passenger aboard a shuttle. 'What do I do then?'
    The guide pointed out that it was sometimes possible to take over the booking of another off-worlder who had no use for it.
    'Like who?' asked Stimson. Surely all the holidaymakers are booked on specific flights.'
    'Indeed,' agreed the guide. 'But we have other visitors, too. Experts of different kinds. Like the Terran accountant, Mr Brock and his friend. They're booked on the shuttle for every flight next week. They just want to make sure they can leave the planet as soon as their work here is complete. Perhaps if you asked him, he would let you use one of his bookings.' Stimson thanked the guide and set about finding his fellow Earthling. He decided it was probably safest to wait for Brock in his room.
    Eventually Stimson found a cabin which bore on its door the names of Brock and Klout. He knocked. There was no answer. He tried the handle. It was unlocked. He entered.
    The cabin was empty. It was quite palatial. But there was no sign of its occupants. No doubt they were still in the boardroom with Mena.
    Having found himself a temporary bolthole, Stimson was loath to leave. He was safe here - for the time being, at any rate. Then an idea occurred to him. Perhaps Brock or Klout had left behind some papers, some kind of authorization he could use to get off this damned planet. Stimson decided to search the place. Brock's room revealed nothing. There were no papers at all. He entered Klout's room, which was even more spartan. Stimson threw open the wardrobe. What he saw brought a scream to his lips. Hanging from a hook in the roof of the wardrobe was a human being. A man.
    Or at least the skin of one. The face, the skin covering the skull, and the rest of the body hung in the wardrobe, like an overcoat waiting to be put on. Gingerly Stimson touched the thing. It crackled to the touch as if alive with static electricity. Yet the skin seemed to be made of some soft, plastic material.
    It was the skin of Klout the lawyer. And yet it wasn't from any dead body. This skin had never covered a human being. It was merely an envelope. A disguise. But for what?
    Stimson didn't wait to find out. He backed out of Klout's room and left the cabin immediately. He decided that he would rather face the Argolin than the creature that used that thing hanging in the wardrobe. He could not imagine what kind of creature it might be.
    He was soon to find out.
    Once in the lines between the cabins Stimson took to his heels, determined to put as much distance as he could between Brock's cabin and himself. The creature saw him leave the cabin and pursued him swiftly on green, scaly feet. The creature ran down the corridor parallel to Stimson. It could see its prey between the cabins and tents. It moved faster than the Terran, and therefore entered the Great Recreation Hall before him.
    It saw, wrapped around on the crystal statues of Argolin heroes, a long woollen object. It was the Doctor's scarf. It was ideal for its purpose. The creature took the scarf betwen two clawed hands and waited, poised behind a pillar.
    As Stimson emerged into the Great Hall, the creature launched itself at him. It wrapped the scarf round the Terran's throat and pulled tighter and tighter. One bony knee was thrust into the small of Stimson's back. Desperately, with weakening fingers, the man tore at the scarf which was choking him.
    The hourglass was placed in the centre of the six tachyon projectors. The sand was running from the upper vessel of the glass into the lower vessel. 'All right,' said Romana. 'Switch on.'
    Hardin slowly fed the power into the projectors. At first nothing happened. The projectors began to glow; the sand continued to run through the hourglass. But when power had built up sufficiently, the hourglass was suddenly surrounded by a nimbus of light.