Eventually he made an abrupt turn and went over to the nutrition machine. Pressed for a soothing cup of hot Korixian tea and waited impatiently while the device whirred and hummed to itself.
The hatch slid open and a hand emerged and passed the General his cup. He took it and started to turn away.
"Gah!" He started violently with the realisation of what he had just seen. "Aargh!" In his shock he had spilled the scalding liquid over his trousers. He scrabbled at them, hissing between his teeth in pain, trying to pull the damp material away from his flesh, then a moment later remembered to grab the flap of the holster at his belt.
"Now, now." The Doctor was head and shoulders out of the service hatch, and aiming a lethal-looking bulbous handgun directly between Feigle's eyes. "Let's keep this fair, if you don't mind. Unfair, I mean."
Feigle's wide, staring eyes locked on the man squeezing his way out into the room, and he tensed rigid at every muscle, the instinct to grab a gun and shoot clashing head on with the instinct to cower and hide. His lips writhed agitatedly, and showed his teeth in a stretched little smile.
"You won't shoot me. I've read a lot about you, Doctor. You wouldn't gun down an unarmed man in cold blood. It's not what you do."
"Is that right?" The Doctor's eyes seemed very bright as he stepped forward into the room, stretching out the weapon to arm's length till it almost touched Feigle's forehead. "Did you read that in a file somewhere? Is there a list of things I'll do and things I won't? I wouldn't bet my life on it if I were you, little military fellow. You see, I don't mind people trying to kill me, I'm used to it, but my companions have a very special status in my view of things, and I take strong exception to someone trying to get to me by hurting them. It takes us into a whole new area of things I will and won't do, and that list of yours, you might as well use it as firelighters."
The cold muzzle of the gun prodded Feigle right between the eyes. He didn't stir.
"Still not convinced, I see," the Doctor continued. "Still not sure if I'll really shoot you. But it doesn't actually matter because I only need to look at you once to see you're not the man to test me. Maybe I'll kill you, maybe I won't, but you'll do anything I tell you rather than take that chance. Watch."
The Doctor reached forward with his left hand and retrieved Feigle's gun from his holster. Held it delicately between finger and thumb while he stepped over to the waste disposal chute and dropped the weapon in. Somewhere out on the hull of the station it was jettisoned into space. Feigle didn't move a muscle.
"See?" said the Doctor. "Has this episode given you an insight into the sort of man you are? Now sit down behind your desk because there's something I need you to do for me."
Feigle stood motionless, the flesh under his eyes twitching violently. The Doctor prompted him with raised eyebrows and the slightest movement of the gun barrel, and he obeyed, walking stiff-legged across the room to sink into his chair. The Doctor followed him all the way and stood over him across the desk.
"What do you want?" Feigle muttered.
"Hmm. Let's see." The Doctor stood up on his toes to look over the desk at Feigle's belt. A flat black plastic rectangle hung there. "Is that the key card for that little space yacht moored at airlock 47? That's a nice ship. I'll have that."
"What?"
Incredulously Feigle glanced down at the key card, then back at the Doctor, manifesting a kind of puritanical disapproval at this frivolous request. Next moment he was shrinking back into his seat, away from the raised gun muzzle, and with a scowl he unhooked the key card and slapped it down on the desk.
"There."
"Thankyou," said the Doctor. "And, um, I want this pen as well." He retrieved a silver, monogrammed, computer-enabled writing implement from under the general's nose and pocketed it. "And this plastic cup." This went into his other pocket. "And I also want your left shoe."
"You..." Feigle's face contorted furiously. "You're pushing me too far with these games, Doctor."
In a swift movement the Doctor lunged forward across the desk, grasped Feigle's collar and dragged him forward, pressing the gun barrel into the flesh of his cheek. He spoke with icy menace.
"I used to have a pair just like those. But the left one got some kind of alien pus on it which just won't come out. So hand it over."
Released, Feigle stared at him, simmering with hatred, but jerkily, as if it were the greatest physical effort imaginable, bent over to unfasten the clasps on his left boot. He slammed it onto the desk. The Doctor inspected it critically.
"Well, that's no good, it'll never fit me." He looked over at Feigle curiously. "Is it true what they say about men with little feet?"
Sitting in his chair frozen with anger, Feigle whispered between clenched teeth:
"You'll die for this, Doctor. You'll suffer, you'll beg, you'll..."
"Oh, wait, I forgot one." The Doctor shifted his grip on the handgun. "What I want you to do now is get on the intercom and order one - not two - one of your men to go and retrieve Jasmine from her cell."
Feigle swallowed, and looked down and eyed the communicator on his desk like an unwanted meal.
"I've given orders she's not to be moved from the security block under any circumstances."
"So you'll now countermand those orders."
There was a pause, and when Feigle raised his head his face was lit up with a gleeful intensity.
"This won't work, Doctor, you've made a mistake! My men aren't stupid, they'll realise something's wrong when I suddenly change my mind about this. By the time someone's brought the girl all the way up here they'll be ready for you. How do you think you're going to get away then? You have me as a hostage. You really think that's going to get you out when there's an armed man on every corner?"
The Doctor had listened to this, untroubled. He leaned forward.
"Who said anything about bringing her all the way up here?" He straightened. "No, let's not make one of your apes tax his mind, let's keep it simple. Just have him take her out of the security block, round the corner, storage bay 14B. How does that sound?"
"14B?" Feigle's sharp little eyes flicked uncertainly from side to side. "There's nothing there except..."
"Never mind about that," said the Doctor coldly, levelling the gun afresh. "Just do as you're... what was that?"
He wheeled swiftly, aiming the gun at the doors and circling cautiously around to Feigle's side of the desk.
"Is there someone shifting about out there?" he said slowly. "Don't get your hopes up, General, if it's your guards you can be sure I'll get you before they get me."
Feigle didn't answer. He was watching as if hypnotised the Doctor's gun, not two feet from his face, pointing steadily away from him.
"Hmm." The Doctor paused, still aiming the gun at the door. He seemed to have forgotten about Feigle entirely. "I know there was someone out there. Maybe they were just passing by."
He scratched his ear thoughtfully with the gun barrel.
At that instant Feigle sprang from his chair and clutched the gun desperately in both fists. His shoulder slammed into the Doctor's side, sending him reeling helplessly way across the office to tumble onto the carpet. Backing up, sweating copiously and breathing fast to the point of hyperventilation in his excitement, Feigle scrambled the gun around to point it tensely at the man on the floor.
"Ha! Should have been more careful, Doctor. A little overconfident, were we? Had me down for an armchair general who wouldn't dare tackle you himself? Wrong, I'm afraid."
The Doctor didn't answer, but lay propped up on his elbows watching Feigle with an air of calm interest. The General hurried over to his desk and stabbed at the intercom switch.
"This is General Feigle. Security to my office. Immediately." He held the gun steady in both hands and gave the Doctor a tight little smirk. "Well, now. Looks like you'll be getting your reunion with your young friend after all. Once we've got you both down in the lab we'll see what we can get out of the pair of you."
"And just what is it you're hoping to get out of us?" asked the Doctor quietly.
"Oh, patience," Feigle admonished triumphantly. "I don't want to spoil the surprise."
"In that case..." The Doctor rose steadily to his feet, the muzzle of the gun following his every move. "It looks as if it's time I was on my way." He turned to contemplate the nutrition machine. "Back into the supply ducts, where men are empty drinks cartons. Farewell."
"Stop!" Feigle's voice was shrill as the Doctor turned his back and headed straight for the hatch. "One more step and I'll shoot you down right now!"
"I doubt that, somehow."
The Doctor started to clamber head first into the opening. Feigle clenched his teeth, shifted his aim to the Doctor's foot, and pressed down hard on the trigger.
A thin metal rod popped out of the gun's muzzle, and a little flag unfurled from it with the word "ZAP!" written on it in large, colourful letters. The Doctor paused, a twinkling eye was briefly visible as he looked back, and he vanished into the duct, shoulders quivering with silent laughter.
"I knew it!" Feigle cast the toy gun violently away and seethed impotently in the centre of the room. "I knew he was bluffing! Weak, stupid, do-gooding..."
He bashed his fists over and over against the surface of his desk until his fury was spent and a shuddering, twitching silence descended over him. Then suddenly his head snapped upright, his face cleared, and a light came to his eyes. A slow smile coiled its way onto his lips.
"Oh, Doctor, you have made a very grave mistake. I see it all. You've been clever, but it's over now."
With a firm, steady movement he clicked the intercom switch again.
"Feigle here. Reactivate the security monitors immediately." He stared into space for a moment, his eyes quivering with the speed of his thoughts. "Report the Master's current position."