Doctor Who: Timelash
The inhabitants of the planet Karfel are suffering under the tyrannical rule of their leader, the Borad, who has brough his world to the brink of interplanetary war.
Those who dare to oppose the will of the Borad are mercilessly sacrificed to the Timelash, a fate considered by many to be worse than death.
When the Doctor arrives on Karfel he soon discovers the Borad’s horrifying plan, a plan which will directly affect his young American assistant, Peri . . .
Distributed by
USA
: LYLE STUART INC, 120 Enterprise Ave, Secaucus, New Jersey 07094
CANADA
: CANCOAST BOOKS, 90 Signet Drive, Unit 3, Weston, Ontario M9L 1T5
AUSTRALIA
: GORDON AND GOTCH LTD
NEW ZEALAND
: GORDON AND GOTCH (NZ) LTD
I S B N 0 - 4 2 6 - 2 0 2 2 9 - 5
UK: £1.60 USA: $3.25
NZ: $5.75 *AUSTRALIA: $4.95
CANADA: $3.95
Recommended Retail Price.
,-7IA4C6-caccjf—
Illustration by David McAllister
Science fiction/TV tie-in
DOCTOR WHO
TIMELASH
Based on the BBC television serial by Glen McCoy by arrangement with the British Broadcasting Corporation
GLEN McCOY
A TARGET BOOK
published by
The Paperback Division of
W. H. Allen & Co. PLC
A Target Book
Published in 1986
By the Paperback Division of
W. H. Allen & Co. PLC
44 Hill Street, London WIX 8LB
First published in Great Britain by W. H. Allen & Co. PLC
in 1985
Novelisation and original script copyright © Glen McCoy, 1985
‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © British Broadcasting Corporation, 1985
The BBC producer of
Timelash
was John Nathan-Turner, the director was Pennant Roberts
Printed and bound in Great Britain by Anchor Brendon Ltd, Tiptree, Essex
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
1
A purple haze glistened upon the conglomeration of pyramids that made up the planet Karfel’s principal city.
Twin suns warmed the sandy surface, drying any remnants of moisture left over from the crisp chill early morning.
Not the most welcoming of climates, and one few of the inhabitants ever enjoyed, the majority living in their special climate-regulated dwellings, which perfected ideal living conditions within large domes of indigenous plant life and fabricated lakes. The outcasts of Karfel escaped the beating rays of solar energy by living deep within the planet’s rocky subterrain: huge caverns cut out underground, creating a myriad of passages deep into layers of crystallised rock.
The largest of all the surface structures, towering well above the multi-constructed triangular buildings, was the Central Citadel, a gigantic pyramid that reflected light like a beacon in space. It housed over five hundred Karfelons, including the Maylin himself, his trusted council, the Inner Sanctum, and a crack regiment of Karfelon guardoliers.
There was one other: the supreme power of Karfel, a recluse who enjoyed a contained rule enclosed within a private vault. Only ever appearing on screen, the Borad ruled with a glove of iron, but for some perhaps it was time to throw down this gauntlet...
Tyheer swung the small group of escapees into the shadows as a team of pursuing guardoliers frogmarched past. Gazak, barely sixteen, winced as he nursed his shoulder. The after-effect of the androids’ sten blast was taking its toll, agitated by the frantic fight for freedom and, perhaps, life itself. He glanced at Aram, the third member of the group, and offered a half smile, hoping to foster a return gesture of reassurance from the young woman, but there was no time.
Another contingent of guardoliers scurried past the sweating rebels with urgency in their brutish footsteps.
Clearly the Borad’s instructions had been taken seriously, leaving the trio little alternative but to grasp at every chance of realising their liberty. The alternative fate that awaited them was too numbing even to consider. Gazak could only remember the words of a fellow conspirator:
Most depart into the Timelash with a scream.
It was Tyheer who disturbed Gazak’s imaginings, breaking the silence that festered from the disappearing echo of the guardoliers’ footsteps.
‘We’re finished,’ he rambled, as two canals of perspiration merged below his quivering lip, following in a thick stream down his neck.
‘Not if I can help it,’ piped Aram, gritting her teeth and straightening her tunic. ‘If just one of us can make it to the rebel encampment -’
It was now evident that Tyheer had lost all interest.
Fear is a strange emotion, preying on individuals in vastly different ways. Gazak, twenty years Tyheer’s junior, and already wounded, tightened his stance, leaning forward in Aram’s direction. ‘I’m with you.’
The young Karfelon woman reached out and clasped the boy’s wet cheek, thumbing what looked like a tear to one side as she did so. There was nothing more to be said.
A curt nod, more a salute, sent Aram spinning off northward to the Citadel’s outer limits, as Gazak turned to reel off in the opposite direction. Within seconds, Tyheer was left alone.
The Doctor’s in one of his odder moods, observed Peri under her breath, as she entered the console room. As usual, her companion busied himself around the TARDIS’s central column, bantering enthusiastically in an incomprehensive gibberish. A large blue intergalactic geographia obscured half the controls as the Doctor studied the mass of charted stars and galaxies.
‘Andromeda,’ beamed the Time Lord, as Peri reached the console.
‘Why?’
‘Because I haven’t been there recently, that’s why.’
It seemed a logical enough response. But then Peri was beginning to know her fellow time-traveller very well.
Logic was perhaps the last vestige of the Doctor’s virtues.
She glanced at him, then turned her back to kick her heels around the humming chamber, knowing that this irritating habit would promote a speedy response.
‘All right. You win. You choose.’
Peri spun round with a gleam of recognition and approached the central control console. Silence ensued as the young American girl realised that she had not fully thought out her gripe.
‘It’s time we put the TARDIS into “park”, Doctor. Find somewhere quiet. Have some time to stretch out and relax.’
Peri was not sure she was, in fact, getting through to him, so she raised her voice a little. ‘We need a
break
.’
For one pregnant second, Peri thought her head was due for decapitation. There was that sparkle in the Time Lord’s eyes, the glimmer that could mean anything. All she could be sure of was that he was about to react, and vigorously so.
‘So you want a holiday!’ he rejoiced, spinning the youngster almost into his arms. ‘I know just the place!’
Peri soon became disappointed. The Doctor’s enthusiasm for the quiet life seemed predominantly in favour of yet another trip to the Eye of Orion. She cursed his predilection for this planet, even though she had never been there. Yet constant over-exposure had put her off the very idea, and were an intergalactic travel agent to place a stack of brochures into her hands, it was clear she would do all but look at them. It was a simple case of overkill.
Resuming on the Doctor, halfway through his travelogue on Orion, Peri unleashed an unhealthy grunt, one that terminated the Doctor’s well-oiled ramblings in mid-sentence.
‘Does
nothing
please you?’ he barked, returning to the console in a huff. Using his index fingers in an obvious state of dismay he began stabbing at a central section in a way Peri identified only too well.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Setting the co-ordinates for Earth.’
‘Again?’
‘1985, to be precise.’
It did not take much more blackmail to bring Peri to a humble penance. Though dissatisfied, she was not about to relinquish her position as personal assistant to perhaps one of the most powerful, not to mention likeable, men in the Universe. Yet there were times when she wondered how he ever built up the latter reputation.
The Doctor removed his fingers from the fine co-ordinate controls, tongue in cheek. The mini-victories scored over his assistant, who was more than a match for his wit and intellect, always pleased him immensely.
Sliding across to the other side of the console, he inverted the star chart and continued to study it until his attention was rapidly diverted to a tiny screen near the velocity overide panel. Craning his neck forward, he glared at the culmination of bright flickering lights that glowed more intensely.
Peri sensed her companion’s concern through his uneasy body language. It was time they forgot their differences and joined forces. Something was seriously wrong.
Gazak gasped as he tucked himself inside a small niche in the outer limits of the Central Citadel. Realising he was partially visible, the boy scanned the area for some other direction, even though his lungs ached and his shoulder smarted. It was his adolescent frame that kept him going, together with an irrepressible will to survive.
Darting out of his corner, Gazak glanced backwards only to see the silhouette of a guardolier. Releasing a shot of adrenalin deep within his wracked body, the boy spurted off in the opposite direction, but found his path was quickly obscured by another guardolier carrying a neck-loop restraining device.
A final last ditch effort to break free past his captors culminated in a desperate struggle. It took three of the hooded troops to restrain the wriggling young rebel who yelped as his neck was clasped between the iron manacles.
Gazak’s flight was over, and the boy’s imagination began to work overtime. All he could think of was the Timelash. A black cloud of fear and desolation contained his inner being, attacking every reserve of courage he had left. Meekly, Gazak was led away, the guards quite oblivious to his cries of pain and continuous suffering. The Borad had instilled the ‘them or you’ principle in all his warriors. Failure simply meant the hunter became the hunted.
Aram could hear the youngster’s screams, instinctively knowing her time was also running out. Nevertheless, the Karfelon girl continued to evade her captors until she was faced with an armed android. The awkward mechanical movement of the programmed creature indicated it was about to fire. Aram scrambled her thoughts for desperate inspiration, as the jet black face of the lifeless being, vaguely modelled with humanoid features, lifted its solid metallic arm in her direction. The rebel tumbled forward, anticipating the shot, evading the clockwork mannekin, only to find it re-locating its aim without any warning.
With a prayer, she scrambled to her feet, ready to throw herself in another direction, but the grey beam of broken light streaked across the space between them, slicing the air in two. Without any more time or room to manoeuvre, the Karfelon rebel was cut to the ground unmercifully, leaving the android free to carry away his victim like some wholesome hunting trophy.