Doctor Who_ Warmonger Part 7

His name, even?'

'Not as yet, Reverend Mother, he has not been formally interrogated. He is undergoing the usual softening-up process...'

'Softening up!' snapped Maren. 'You're the one who's softened up, Commander Hawken in the head!'

'But Reverend Mother '

'I am your Adviser, am I not?'

'Of course, Reverend Mother. And a most valued '

'Then take my advice. See this intruder at once. Interrogate him by all means but with care and courtesy.'

'Very well, Reverend Mother,' said Hawken. 'And to aid me in my task ' His voice hardened. 'May I ask what you yourself know of this prisoner? I understand that the Surgeon-General was summoned to attend him at your intervention. So extreme a measure '

'Your spies are everywhere, Commander.'

'Like yours, Reverend Mother.'

Maren paused. 'At the moment I know little more than you,'

she said grudgingly. 'But he spoke certain words to me Words of Power known to only a few. So, Commander, treat him carefully but hold him fast. He could be a valuable ally or a danger to us both.'

'I shall of course take your advice, Reverend Mother,' said Hawken. He spoke into the com-unit on his desk. 'Bring the new prisoner for interrogation immediately. And treat him gently.' He looked up. 'Reverend Mother, do you wish to be present yourself ' But Maren had gone.

'b.l.o.o.d.y woman,' thought Hawken. 'She knows more about this mysterious prisoner than she's telling me. Now she wants me to do her dirty work for her!'

Annoyed and intrigued at the same time, he waited for his prisoner to arrive.

Chapter Three.

Operation Jail guard Altos threw open the cell door with a clang and yel ed at the Doctor. 'You! Up! Come! Now!'

Hawken's orders had been pa.s.sed down to him but as far as Altos was concerned, treating prisoners gently meant not actually hitting them.

The Doctor sat up, immediately wide awake.

'Is there any news?' he asked.

'News?'

'The girl I brought here, the one with the wounded arm. Is the operation over?'

Altos neither knew nor cared. 'Prisoners don't ask questions, they answer them. On your feet. Move!'

The Doctor looked at the guard with disfavour. 'You know, you remind me of Hobbes's description of the life of man nasty, brutish and short.'

Realising that he was being insulted, Altos reached automatically for his electroclub. Then he remembered the special instructions and stopped himself.

'Move yourself, prisoner,' he screamed. 'The Commander wants to see you.'

The Doctor rose to his feet, glanced up at the little window and saw only pitch darkness. The small hours of the morning, he reflected, the hour when vitality was at its lowest ebb. The traditional time for interrogation. He followed the guard out of the cell. He wondered how things were going with Peri. Perhaps this Commander would have news...

Arms b.l.o.o.d.y to the elbow, Surgeon-General Mehendri Solon stepped back from the operating table and surveyed his work with satisfaction.

Beside him, a.s.sistant-Surgeon Drago whispered, 'Brilliant.

Sheer genius!'

Soberly, Solon nodded his agreement. He usually chose Drago for his a.s.sistant. Far from the most skilled of the junior surgeons, he was the one with the att.i.tude Solon considered most suitable grovelling adoration.

Solon turned aside, peeled off his long surgical gloves and held his hands under a faucet. Warm, scented water flowed into a basin and he washed his hands and arms. He turned, holding them out before him, and a theatre nurse dried them reverently with a towel.

Solon returned to the operating table and surveyed his unconscious patient. She lay white-skinned and motionless, scarcely seeming to breathe.

'Reconnecting or replacing the severed muscles and tendons was simple enough,' said Solon. 'Cobbler's work. But restoring the nerves to full function that does call for a certain delicacy of touch.'

Peri's naked body was surrounded by and connected to banks of complex electronic equipment. The re-attached right arm looked completely normal again, without even a trace of a scar. When the surgery was complete, the terrible wound had been carefully repaired with bio-flesh, then sprayed with bioskin, living substances that would become part of her body. Unless, as sometimes happened, the body rejected them...

Solon touched a control, and the re-attached right arm rose from Peri's side, flexed and then lowered itself.

Solon nodded. 'Satisfactory so far.'

'What are her chances of a full recovery?' asked Drago.

Solon shrugged. 'Reasonable. Unless the body rejects the new tissue, in which case she'll probably die.'

'I'm sure that won't happen,' said Drago. 'Like all your operations, Surgeon-General, this one will be a brilliant success.'

'The operation is a brilliant success,' said Solon coldly. 'The life or death of the patient is largely irrelevant.' He glanced down at Peri. 'All the same, it will be a pity if she dies. She is not unattractive. If she recovers, I may give her an opportunity to show her grat.i.tude.'

'I am sure she would be honoured, Surgeon-General,' said Drago. He hesitated. 'Though...'

'Well?'

'Perhaps the man who brought her here might not be too pleased.'

'He is currently being interrogated by Commander Hawken,'

said Solon carelessly. 'He may not survive it, not everyone does.

And if Hawken fails, he'll hand him over to us for a more scientific approach. In which case well, accidents will happen.'

Dismissing the subject, he continued, 'What time is my next operation scheduled?'

'In four hours, Surgeon-General.'

Solon nodded and shrugged out of his operating gown, well aware that there would be a nurse there to catch it. 'I shall rest for a while. Send the patient to Recuperation. Give her a private room.'

As he strode towards his luxurious quarters, Solon became aware that he wasn't tired. As so often happened after a successful operation, his whole being was awash with adrenalin.

He was intoxicated with his own brilliance.

Changing course, he headed for a certain narrow cul-de-sac, ending, apparently, in a blank wall. Solon produced an electronic disc about the size of a coin and pressed it to a minute depression in the rock wall.

A concealed door slid open in the rock wall. Solon went through it and the door closed behind him.

He pa.s.sed through an ante-room and went through another door. It led to a long, dimly lit room filled with row upon row of benches on which rested motionless forms draped with silvery plastisheets.

It might have been a morgue but it wasn't. Not quite. Eyes glittering with excitement, Solon moved to the nearest bench.

'You, soldier!' he barked. 'Attention! On your feet!'

There was a stirring of movement beneath the covering sheet as the dreadful creature beneath came to life. The sheet dropped away as it rose to his feet and shambled towards him...

Shown, or rather shoved, into Hawken's luxurious office, the Doctor paused, recovered his balance and looked around him curiously. The place was more like a study than an office indeed, it had much in common with his own study in the TARDIS. Walls lined with books, comfortable armchairs... One corner was occupied by a simple desk holding a combined computer terminal and com-unit.

'Prisoner for interrogation, sir!' screamed Altos, cras.h.i.+ng to attention.

A huge man rose from behind the desk and came towards them.

'No need for violence.' he said in a deep, commanding voice.

'All right, you can go now.'

'Hadn't I better stay, sir? This one's a pretty ugly customer.

Bad att.i.tude, sir.'

'I think I can handle him. Out!'

'Sir!'

Altos turned and stamped out.

The big man came to greet the Doctor, hand outstretched.

'My dear fellow, here you are at last. I do apologise for the delay, pressure of work, you know... I'm Commander Hawken, Head of Security...'

The Doctor took the offered hand, which engulfed his own.

'Is there any news?' he asked urgently.

'News?'

'About my companion, the young woman I brought here.

She had a badly wounded arm, it was almost severed. Doctor Solon agreed to operate.'

'I'll check for you,' said Hawken immediately. He was a great believer in establis.h.i.+ng good relations at the start of an interrogation. He raised his voice. 'Computer, report on the condition of Doctor Solon's latest patient human female with severe arm wound.'

The computer replied in a surprisingly seductive female voice.

'Operation successfully concluded, prognosis good. Patient resting comfortably.'

'The usual medical cliches,' thought the Doctor. Still, it was good news as far as it went.

Commander Hawken seemed determined to be friendly. 'I hope you've been well looked after?'

'The accommodation was simple, but adequate as dungeons go.'

Hawken looked shocked. 'You don't mean they put you in a cell?'

'They probably thought that was the thing to do, since I'd been arrested.'

'Not arrested,' protested Hawken. 'Detained pending further enquiries at most. Another bureaucratic foul-up I'm afraid.'

'I'm sure,' agreed the Doctor, not believing a word of it.

He'd had a taste of the hard treatment, this was the soft. If he didn't cooperate, he'd be back in the cell soon enough.

'Let me try to make amends,' Hawken continued. 'Have a comfortable chair.' He ushered the Doctor to an armchair, then moved to a cabinet set in the wall. He flung open the doors, revealing an astonis.h.i.+ng array of bottles, phials and flasks.

'A drink? I can offer you anything from Algolian wine to vrag vrag. We get patients from all over the galaxy here, and quite a few of them like to show their appreciation those that survive!

The doctors and surgeons get most of it, of course. But I'm customs officer here, so I have to take a sample of everything that comes in just to make sure it's all suitable, of course.'