Read Online Doctor Who: Ultimate Treasure by Christopher Bulis - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Bulis
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emanating from the console brought her running back.
'What is it? Something wrong?'
The Doctor was working the controls rapidly, his face set and intent. The beeping faded and died in a burst of static, then grew stronger again. 'A hyperspace distress beacon on minimal power.
Somebody's in trouble. Interestingly enough it seems to be in normal space on a line between Astroville and our destination.
I'm trying to get an exact fix on it... ah.' He touched another sequence of switches and the descending tones of rematerialisation sounded.
The scanner screen, which had a moment before been filled with the grey of the deep interdimensional void, now swirled with colour that resolved into a hard image. It was the interior of a spacecraft cabin, dimly lit by green-tinted emergency lights.
Trailing wires were strung about the walls, and several gaping splits in the bulkhead were patched over with strips of glistening transparent plastic. In one corner was a discarded pile of emergency-ration-pack wrappers and several oxygen cylinders, while in the other was a large chair. Looking up in astonishment from it, a section of disassembled control panel resting across his knees, was the man who called himself Sir John Falstaff.
'A remarkable contrivance you have here, Doctor,' Falstaff said five minutes later, after they had taken him and his few salvageable belongings on board. He had recovered his composure with remarkable speed.
"T'was most fortunate that you heard my hails, for I was beginning to give up hope of salvation, and commend my soul to God and beg his understanding for any trifling transgressions I may have committed over the years. But now I can rest easy once more. Have you any decent food aboard? I am a shadow of my former self. Bad enough to be so disabled by a device planted in such a knavish manner, but the blast destroyed my source of fresh victuals, since when I have had to survive on morsels that would not keep a church mouse alive.'
Peri, however, was in no mood to play along with his fantasy.
'You can drop the act. We know you're a phoney,' she said scathingly.
Falstaff looked affronted and hitched his belt a little higher over his massive belly. You accuse Falstaff of being an imposter, Mistress Brown? What, old Jack? Never.'
'I think you should know, we are familiar with the work of William Shakespeare,' the Doctor said helpfully. 'Even if he is currently out of fashion in this part of the galaxy.'
To their surprise this did not appear to trouble Falstaff. 'Ah, so you have heard of my chronicler.'
'Chronicler?' Peri exclaimed.
'Certainly. Thou didst not think such a man as Jack Falstaff could be conjured out of nothing by some pen scratcher? The fellow used some licence with my adventures, I grant you, but Falstaff was cut from whole cloth.
'Falstaff was a fictional character,' Peri insisted.
'No, you have it turned about. The fiction came after the fact.
'Well if you are the real Falstaff, that would make you about fifteen hundred years old. Unless you've also got a -'
'Another means of travel,' the Doctor cut in. He looked at Falstaff narrowly for a moment, then said a few words in a flowing tongue, to which their guest stared back at him blankly.
'No, I didn't think you were Gallifreyan. So how do you claim to have lived so long?'
'Now, sweet wag,' Falstaff admonished. 'I do not inquire of your origins. Pray allow a man to call himself by whatever name he chooses, unless you can produce another to contest his right.
Besides, it is not mannerly to tax your guest so, especially when he is fainting away from lack of sustenance.'
Peri gave an audible 'Huh!' of disbelief at the claim. The Doctor tried a more direct approach.
'Tell us how Hok came to be selling the location of Rovan's treasure.'
For the first time, Falstaff seemed taken aback. Ah, the secret is out, I see. Poor Hok. It would have been his most profitable venture.'
'And how did you find out what was on offer?' Peri
'What is it? Something wrong?'
The Doctor was working the controls rapidly, his face set and intent. The beeping faded and died in a burst of static, then grew stronger again. 'A hyperspace distress beacon on minimal power.
Somebody's in trouble. Interestingly enough it seems to be in normal space on a line between Astroville and our destination.
I'm trying to get an exact fix on it... ah.' He touched another sequence of switches and the descending tones of rematerialisation sounded.
The scanner screen, which had a moment before been filled with the grey of the deep interdimensional void, now swirled with colour that resolved into a hard image. It was the interior of a spacecraft cabin, dimly lit by green-tinted emergency lights.
Trailing wires were strung about the walls, and several gaping splits in the bulkhead were patched over with strips of glistening transparent plastic. In one corner was a discarded pile of emergency-ration-pack wrappers and several oxygen cylinders, while in the other was a large chair. Looking up in astonishment from it, a section of disassembled control panel resting across his knees, was the man who called himself Sir John Falstaff.
'A remarkable contrivance you have here, Doctor,' Falstaff said five minutes later, after they had taken him and his few salvageable belongings on board. He had recovered his composure with remarkable speed.
"T'was most fortunate that you heard my hails, for I was beginning to give up hope of salvation, and commend my soul to God and beg his understanding for any trifling transgressions I may have committed over the years. But now I can rest easy once more. Have you any decent food aboard? I am a shadow of my former self. Bad enough to be so disabled by a device planted in such a knavish manner, but the blast destroyed my source of fresh victuals, since when I have had to survive on morsels that would not keep a church mouse alive.'
Peri, however, was in no mood to play along with his fantasy.
'You can drop the act. We know you're a phoney,' she said scathingly.
Falstaff looked affronted and hitched his belt a little higher over his massive belly. You accuse Falstaff of being an imposter, Mistress Brown? What, old Jack? Never.'
'I think you should know, we are familiar with the work of William Shakespeare,' the Doctor said helpfully. 'Even if he is currently out of fashion in this part of the galaxy.'
To their surprise this did not appear to trouble Falstaff. 'Ah, so you have heard of my chronicler.'
'Chronicler?' Peri exclaimed.
'Certainly. Thou didst not think such a man as Jack Falstaff could be conjured out of nothing by some pen scratcher? The fellow used some licence with my adventures, I grant you, but Falstaff was cut from whole cloth.
'Falstaff was a fictional character,' Peri insisted.
'No, you have it turned about. The fiction came after the fact.
'Well if you are the real Falstaff, that would make you about fifteen hundred years old. Unless you've also got a -'
'Another means of travel,' the Doctor cut in. He looked at Falstaff narrowly for a moment, then said a few words in a flowing tongue, to which their guest stared back at him blankly.
'No, I didn't think you were Gallifreyan. So how do you claim to have lived so long?'
'Now, sweet wag,' Falstaff admonished. 'I do not inquire of your origins. Pray allow a man to call himself by whatever name he chooses, unless you can produce another to contest his right.
Besides, it is not mannerly to tax your guest so, especially when he is fainting away from lack of sustenance.'
Peri gave an audible 'Huh!' of disbelief at the claim. The Doctor tried a more direct approach.
'Tell us how Hok came to be selling the location of Rovan's treasure.'
For the first time, Falstaff seemed taken aback. Ah, the secret is out, I see. Poor Hok. It would have been his most profitable venture.'
'And how did you find out what was on offer?' Peri
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