Despotic dictators were invariably so full of themselves in the closing stages of executing there plans, that they very often overlooked what appeared on the face of it to be a minor detail. This is sort of thing that The Doctor would look for, a small chink in the armour, which he could then hope to find a way to exploit.
A small loophole, that was all The Doctor needed he had not expected to find a gaping chasm! As stupidity goes, placing The Doctor to work in the control centre had to rank as the most stupid thing a despot had ever tried since…since six Zygons had attempted to take over the earth, or Davros had attempted to seize the hand of omega, The Doctor concluded, smiling to himself.
The guard was hovering over The Doctor's right shoulder. The Doctor appeared to be studying a grid of black and white squares. There were white figures at one end and black figures at the other.
"What's that you're doing?"
The Doctor looked at him, "What do you think?"
The guard thought for a moment, "I don't know…"
"I'm doing as Professor Grayvor requested," The Doctor explained, "I'm testing the strength of the signal to the rocket silos."
The guard looked to the Professor for confirmation. The Professor looked up from his console and nodded in confirmation. The guard thought he caught a faint trace of amusement flickering over the Professor's face, but he couldn't be sure.
Since Lord Strakov's departure The Doctor had been chatting animatedly with the Professor in order "To learn exactly what his task was." Most of their conversation had washed over the guards head to him it was all technobabble peppered with references to Argonite crystals, warheads, rockets, frequency rates over long distances, autopilot, manual overrides, and then there had been something about networking, multiplayer, and something that they had both got quite excited about that they called "Chess."
"You see these are the missiles receivers," The Doctor pointed to the digital chess pieces that were black.
"These white ones," The Doctor continued, "are the command centres, now first I send a signal to the missiles..." The Doctor moved a white knight to flank Grayvor's black bishop.
Grayvor's Bishop promptly retreated.
"And that's the response from the warhead!" The Doctor concluded with a winning smile.
"I knew that!" The guard said determined not to betray his ignorance. "Just remember no tricks!"
******
All in all, Digby was quite content in the kitchen. He was a bit gutted about soiling his joggers, they were Tommy Hilfiger after all, but he had arrived at the kitchen just in time for dinner, and had discovered that The Doctor was wrong! There was such a thing as chips on the planet Frowar! Not only that but there was also chicken and mushroom pie.
After dinner the Head Chef had put a very bloated Digby to work washing dishes, as the rest of the kitchen staff went to work on preparing the evening banquet.
There were quite a lot of unusual things on the menu that Digby had suspected were distinctly Frowardian. Or "indigenous to this planet," as The Doctor had put it. But the main dishes were steamed lobster and steak.
Digby looked around, noting that everyone was busy, he also noted that the placed seemed relatively unguarded, not that he had any intention of escaping. Satisfied that no one was going to bother him, Digby grabbed the headphones that were permanently placed around his neck and put them in his ears.
A little music wouldn't hurt while he worked!
But they didn't feel right. They didn't feel like they were attached to anything. Digby checked beneath his sweatshirt and felt the end of the black band that was also permanently hung round his neck. And experienced his first wave of horror, since arriving on Frowar.
Not only had he ruined the only pair of designer joggers he had brought with him, but now his mp3 player had gone missing!
*****
"Now what are you doing?" The guard barked after The Doctor had yelled out "Check mate!"
Professor Grayvor had gone off to make some tea and The Doctor had produced a small sonic device that he was using to remove a service panel.
"Well you heard The Professor!" The Doctor exclaimed, we have to recheck the systems and set up the test again!" The Doctor held up the removed service panel.
"Hold this!"
The guard reluctantly took it from The Doctor's grasp.
It only took The Doctor a matter of moments to wire Digby's mp3 player into the transmission circuits and set the playlist on repeat cycle. The Guard was still holding up the service panel and was therefore unable to see what The Doctor was doing.
"Professor Grayvor tells me there is only one missile here at the moment," The Doctor said conversationally, "presumably the rest are stored somewhere else?"
"Need to know only basis Doctor," The guard replied levelly, "They're in a safe place far away from here."
In fact that was exactly what The Doctor needed to know, he smiled to himself relieving the guard of his burden.
"Thank you," he smiled, "you've been very helpful."
He just had time to seal the panel back into place when the Professor returned with the tea.
"Are we ready for another test Doctor?" The Professor enquired, handing him a mug.
"Absolutely Professor."
The guard looked from one to the other, something was going on but he couldn't put his finger on it. As if there was some kind of joke between the boffins to which he was not privy. No matter, he would check the movements of the white and black figures and make sure that The Doctor ran the required test correctly…or at least looked like he was. After all, how could he tell?
The guard looked around the room, he wasn't sure but some of the other Technicians appeared to be smirking too.
Smiling inwardly to himself, The Doctor considered his opening move. Technicians were the same the universe over he mused. If you left them to get on with their job they usually did. If you lorded over them and breathed down their necks the way Strakov liked to, you forced them to appear busier than they actually were. To appear to be working at all times, in an attempt to create the illusion that they are somehow indispensable.
Were Strakov to ever realise that the machines did most of the work he would also realise that he had no need of so many technicians. And from what The Doctor could tell, judging from the sudden demise of the Technician that dared to snigger, Strakov's organisation did not operate a particularly beneficial redundancy policy.
*****
Digby had finished cleaning most of the dishes, well, the ones he didn't break anyway. He was then made to empty the bins before being put to work on peeling tearjerkers. This was a type of local vegetable that looked suspiciously like an onion, only ten times more potent.
Digby hadn't wept so much since he first saw the ending of Terminator 2. That last clip of Arnie descending into the molten lava got to him every time.
He gritted his teeth and continued to peel. Around him the hustle and bustle of the kitchen continued in earnest. From what Digby could gather, Lady Strakov was having what she called a "little soiree" and had asked the kitchen to prepare what any right-minded Head Chef would call a "banquet."
A flustered waiter rushed in from the banquet hall with a plate of steak, sautéed potatoes and assorted veg.
"What's the matter?" The Head Chef asked.
"The Count wanted lobster," explained the waiter whilst preparing to scrape the food into the bin.
"Wait!"
Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing and looked at Digby.
"Can I have it?"
The Head Chef had been in the middle of chopping up lobster, he paused meat cleaver still poised in mid air.
"You? How many jerkers have you peeled?"
"er…roughly or exactly?" Digby queried wiping his constantly streaming eyes.
"HOW MANY?" The Head Chef boomed, waving the cleaver with menace.
"One." Digby mumbled.
"ONE?" The Head Chef sneered, "if you don't hurry up with that, you'll be chopped up, steamed, and served on the next platter to go!"
The Head Chef paused for effect.
"What did you say your name was?"
"Digby."
"Digby?" The Head Chef considered this, "Digby," he stated matter of factly, "you are a useless…."
And so saying he finished what The Doctor had been on the point of saying earlier, it wasn't very complimentary and it rhymed with hat.
*****
The Doctor had beaten Professor Grayvor for the third time in a row when Strakov breezed back into the room. Instantly The Doctor and the Professor closed the game and returned the screens to their usual functions, just as Strakov resumed his seat and barked out a request for a report.
Professor Grayvor went into painstaking detail most of which The Doctor noted had been recounted earlier and none of which was particularly relevant, but merely thrown in to give the impression that the task at hand was far more complicated than it really was. There was an awkward pause, before Strakov, who was staring forlornly at his empty cupholder, suddenly realised that The Professor had finished.
"So is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"It is good my Lord," The Professor replied unhesitatingly.
"Excellent Professor, in that case ready the missiles for launching." Strakov motioned to his guard, "tell the kitchen to bring me a cup of tea."
The guard mumbled something into his headset.
"The missiles are ready my Lord," The Professor stated.
"They are?" Lord Strakov tried to mask his surprise. "Yes of course, Good…"
The Professor was still awaiting instruction. "Anything else you require my Lord?"
"Put me through to the President of Jawa Delphra," Lord Strakov commanded dismissively, he glanced at his guard for confirmation that tea was forthcoming.
The guard nodded.
"Biscuits?" Lord Strakov snapped.
The guard mumbled something else into his headset.
The Doctor smiled to himself and began making the final adjustments to what he thought was one of his more inspired pieces of sabotage.
*****
"You!" The Head Chef pointed at Digby, "Take this to his lordship!"
A tray bearing a mug of tea and a selection of biscuits were thrust into Digby's hands.
Digby stared at it longingly he was gasping for a cuppa! And the biscuits were tempting too.
"Don't even think it sonny," The Head Chef warned, "not if you like breathing that is, just take it to the control room and come straight back here got it?"
Digby nodded and headed off unsupervised. He smiled to himself, one little sip wouldn't matter…would it?
*****