Free Doctor Who: Time and the Rani by Pip Baker, Jane Baker Page B

called, delight in his greeting.
    The young male Lakertyan's response was ambiguous: pleasure tempered by discretion. Nevertheless, they exchanged the Lakertyan salutation of pressing right palms together.
    'Lanisha, can you tell me what that globe is for?'
    'We've been forbidden to have anything to do with you, Ikona.'
    'You're going to ignore your own brother?'
    'I obey the orders of Beyus.'
     
    In abject contrast, Beyus was not issuing orders but receiving them; and in a manner which paid scant regard to the dignity of his rank.
    'Answer the . . . Mistress Rani . . .' croaked Urak contemptuously. He had found the burnt remains of the cremated Tetrap guard. He had also found the foil strips that he was thrusting at Beyus.
    'Do you recognise these?' the Rani repeated her question.
     
    Before replying, Beyus fingered the red and gold torque draped from his shoulder.
    The torque was matched by a chain of red and gold beads. Both were symbols of high office.
    'The foil strips are from the fireworks we used at our carnivals.' His use of the past tense was significant: carnivals and fiestas, an integral adjunct of Lakertyan ceremonial, had been prohibited by the Rani.
    'This was fired at no carnival,' she reprimanded. 'It was used to enable the Doctor to escape.'
    'Causing the . . . death of a . . . Tetrap . . .'
    The Rani coded instructions into the monitor.
    A graphic of the multi-faceted globe began to assemble on the screen.
    'None of my followers would be responsible!' Beyus's consternation was heightened by Urak's snuffle of unadulterated bliss as the graphic took shape.
    'You're careful not to deny it's the work of a Lakertyan.'
    'You can't do this! It will be punishing the innocent!'
    'Guilt by association. I warned you of the consequences of subversion.' She pressed a button on her minicomputer-bracelet. . .
     
    The globe stopped revolving.
    A hush filtered through the Centre of Leisure . . .to be broken by an angry, wasp-like buzzing.
    Panic!
    Game-players burst from their cubicles.
    Loungers tumbled from their cushioned hammocks.
    Shouts of terror blotted out the music.
    All stampeded for the exit!
    Ikona and the Doctor, not privy to the horror that was about to beset the Centre's occupants, were the only stationary figures.
    Not for long.
    The vengeance of the Rani would recognise no exceptions. . .
     
    The buzzing intensified as a facet of the globe opened and four mutated hornets flew out.
    In rapid succession, three of the hornets dived on three screaming Lakertyans.
    A piercing sting. And the buzzing ceased.
    So did the screams of the victims.
    Recipient and donor died instantly: equal sufferers in the Rani's scheme of submission.
    The Doctor and Ikona stood transfixed - until the fourth killer insect buzzed perilously close . . .
    Galvanised by fear, they raced for the staircase.
    The hornet kept pace!
    Drew ahead.
    Settled on top of a curtain and increased its buzzing preparatory to a final dive.
    Cut off from the exit, Ikona and the Doctor presented choice targets.
    But the insect swooped behind the curtain.
    The buzzing climaxed.
    Slowly the curtains parted - and Lanisha slumped to the gallery floor . . .
    Ikona, dropping to his knees beside the body of his brother, was reproached by biting words.
    'Do you still insist Beyus should noi count the cost of resistance, Ikona!' Faroon had arrived from the laboratory complex just as the four hornets had been launched. 'If every cell in the globe were opened, there would not be a Lakertyan left alive!'
    The Doctor's puckish face wore a grim expression as he considered Faroon's words.
    Only too well did he understand Beyus's servile acceptance of the Rani's subjugation.
    'Doctor,' Faroon interrupted his reverie. 'I have a message for you. It concerns your companion, Melanie . . .'
     
     
     
     
    15

Exchange Is A Robbery
     
    The plateau, a grey flatness relieved occasionally by whirlygigs of sand from capricious wind eddies, was the chosen venue for the