Chapter 6
Raising both eyebrows in a look which translated as, 'seriously?', the Doctor was obviously less than impressed by his captor's threat.
"Oooh–now who's being," the Doctor smirked, making quotes in the air with his fingers, "theatrical?" He mocked the man.
The Doctor jammed his hands into his pockets, before realizing that his pyjamas didn't have any. He threw the mauve-coloured jim-jams and annoyed look. Then, began pacing up and down in front of the tall man.
"Thing is, I'm guessing that if you don't want me to know your name, you must have a very good reason for that. What is it, then? Planetary authorities don't know about your little hobby? Bet they wouldn't like that, no siree-bob, I just bet they wouldn't. Shut you down, maybe even toss you into your own little cage…" He gave a chuckle. "Oh, yes. I'm right, aren't I? I love it when I'm right." With a sideways glance, the Doctor noted the frown on his captor's face. He shrugged casually, "Then again, I'm always right. Well, almost always. Well, more times than I'm wrong, anyway. After all, as you say," He stopped and stared down at the man. Suddenly standing tall and proud, the Doctor gave his captor a stern glare, saying in deadly earnest, "I am the last of the Time Lords."
The man gave a casual shrug–a little too casually, the Doctor thought.
Sounding artificially bored, the man said, "Oh very well. I'll humour you, Doctor. You may call me…the Collector."
"The Collector?" The Doctor raised both eyebrows this time. "The Doctor and the Collector? Really? They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Personally speaking though, I do find that sort of thing, just a teensy bit bizarre." Making a face, the Doctor gave a dramatic sigh. "Meh, I suppose it's better than calling you, 'hey, you!' However, I am a rather disappointed in your choice. I was thinking of calling you something a bit more dynamic and exciting. How about, 'Hans'?" Pitching his voice an octave lower, he growled out, "Hans. Hannzzzz. That's a good strong manly man's name."
"Whatever you want, Doctor." The man said, with a casual wave of his hand. As he walked off, he said, "You are now my star attraction. I'm willing to humour you. Some very wealthy off-world tourists are paying me six hundred dinora per person, just to see the last of a species. I stand to make millions off of your exhibit alone, within the next five or six years."
Do you think that I could have my suit, now?" The Doctor sighed, looking down at his jim-jams. "Only, this thing's a bit tacky, for my taste."
The Collector nodded silently to the lavender toga girl. She handed the Doctor his suit, tie, shirt and shoes through the opening in the glass. The Doctor stood there awkwardly, looking at the woman.
"Erm–I don't suppose I could entice you to turn your back?" He asked her, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just that I'm a tad shy, you know,...around..." As the Doctor looked down, he couldn't help catching a glimpse of the woman's ample cleavage, which was showing through her scanty toga. He swallowed uncomfortably, "er—Snodish women."
The very fit blond woman gave him an uncomprehending smile. "As you can see, sir, I had it cleaned and pressed for you. It now looks like new–even better, perhaps."
The Doctor looked at it with a measure of distaste. "I rather liked this just the way it was, thank you" He held it out from him, frowning. "Now I'm going to look like a…a…" He groped for the right word, "...some human, paying a mortgage, buying a car, going off to work in an...office." He made a face, "Yech!" Glancing at the Dalek next door, he added with a shudder, "My second-worst nightmare."
"A what?" She asked, still giving him an obtuse stare.
"Oh, never mind." The Doctor whinged, "I'll just go and slip behind the sofa then. Back in a tick."
The Doctor walked over to the rear of his cage. Getting down onto his hands and knees on the carpet, he crawled into the space between the small sofa, and the solid back wall of his cage. Muffled noises were heard for several minutes, and a bit of muttering under his breath. It wasn't anything which the woman or the guard could manage to hear properly–and they wouldn't have understood it anyway, as the Doctor was cursing in Old Low Galifreyan. Meanwhile, the Collector had come back into the room. He was waiting behind the guard, looking as smug as ever.
"I am sorry about the rather tasteless décor inside your cage, Doctor." He called out. "Unfortunately, I could find no records of what the interior of your TARDIS looks like. However, being that you seem overly fond of Sol 3, or Earth as the natives call it, we decided to go with the next best thing. Perhaps once you settle in to your new life, you can assist our scenic designers with a more realistic background for you."
Crawling back out from behind the sofa, the Doctor stood and straightened his tie. He purposefully strode up to the Collector.
"That's more like it." He faced the collector, a serious expression on his face. "Now. Tell me how you managed to get hold of the Albermein. The Shadow Proclamation banned that particular tranquilizer, because the only way to make it was from the blood of newborn Quadrillas. Nearly wiped out the entire planet, making that drug. Over forty million babies…"
Pausing, the Doctor abruptly realized that he'd seen something, that hadn't registered until just now. Squinting against the glare of the lights, he stared across the room. There, he saw a glass cage marked 'Quadrilla'.
In the cage, was a delicate looking creature. Its head and legs were pure white, but the main body was covered with multicoloured dark feathers. The creature had the legs, body and flowing tail of a horse, but the head, neck and wings were that of a swan. It was was only four meters in height, and had a gentle, intelligent looking face. It was sat facing the front of its cage staring into space, it's expression so sad, that it almost made the Doctor cry. The bright plumage indicated a female of the species, and she was obviously in mourning.
The Doctor's face first registered comprehension, then complete repulsion. "You killed her baby, didn't you?" He clenched his fists tightly, his breath heaving with a wild rage he could barely contain. "Butchered it, just so you could capture me?" He suddenly felt queasy inside, that he was the cause of the death of so young and beautiful a creature. "You miserable, rotten ….. to think that a planet as wonderful as Snod, could produce an abhorrence like you!"
His raging outburst didn't seem to have any effect on the Doctor's captor. The Collector merely crossed his arms, and smiled superiorly.
"It was well worth it, Doctor. Look at you. The last Time Lord, the Oncoming Storm himself."
At the mention of that name, the Dalek in the next cell began its dreary "Exterminate!" mantra, once again ineffectually banging against the glass, trying to get at the Doctor.