part of it. Finally, she made another attempt to speak.
'Doc-tor... Doc-tor...'
Although her voice was barely audible, it was enough to produce an immediate response from the Doctor, who was somewhere very close by.
'Victoria! Are you... all right?' He spoke in a strangulated voice, as if the words were stuck in his throat.
'I... I can't move... my legs...'
'I can't move... either... ' Jamie's voice joined them, also from close by. He sounded like his tongue had become too large for his mouth. 'Wh - what's happened to us?'
One thing was clear. The three time-travellers were certainly not dead, and they were no longer on the beach. They were lying flat on their backs, head to head, spread-eagled on the floor of some enormous building, which at the present moment appeared to them as nothing more than a blurred haze. And all around them, odd sounds.
Bleeping, pumping, thumping, electrical, mechanical.
Gradually, the haze began to clear. Two blurred shadowy figures were standing over the trio, each carrying telescopic rifles.
The Doctor managed to focus on them, and regain some of the strength in his voice.
'Would you mind telling us where we are?'
The two blurred figures remained silent, and bent down to take a closer look. Their faces seemed large and oval, grotesque and distorted.
'Why don't you answer?'
Once again Victoria tried to move, but without success.
'Doctor, what have they done to us?' she wailed. Even the ability to cry had been denied her. 'I can't move!'
The Doctor tried rolling the pupils of his eyes, but they felt too heavy and stiff. 'Don't panic, Victoria. I think we've been tranquillised.'
'What!' Jamie was outraged. 'Who do they think they are?'
'I think it's we who should be asking the questions.' A third face joined the two blurred figures. The voice was gruff and bronchial. 'And I shall expect quite a lot of answers.'
The haze had now completely cleared to reveal a burly-looking man, probably in his early fifties, with greying hair, a jutting jaw, and vacant grey eyes. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the two guards, and studied each of the three helpless figures spread-eagled before him.
Jamie found it agonising to try and move the muscles in his face. 'What is this place?' he croaked.
The man with the jutting jaw leaned closer, enabling Jamie to read the large name-patch on his shiny black plastic uniform: ROBSON, S. CONTROLLER 1 . 'You mean you don't know?' said Robson, the corner of his mouth curling into a cynical smile.
Jamie glared at the jutting jaw with frustrated anger. 'If I could just get up... ' he snarled through clenched teeth.
'I shouldn't try if I were you!' Robson's smile quickly faded.
'You know, lying in this position, it is rather difficult to communicate,' said the Doctor. He was right. He and his two companions did look faintly ridiculous stretched out in such an undignified position on the floor.
'Shall we give them some U4, sir?' The voice was that of a young man in his late twenties. He was a weak-looking individual, with blue eyes, a pale face and gaunt expression, and a mop of blond, unruly hair that constantly flopped carelessly over his right eye. His uniform was too big for him, and he looked as though he could do with a good meal. He had a cultured way of speaking, which was in complete contrast to his boss, Robson. His name-patch showed: HARRIS, F. CONTROLLER 2 .
For a moment, Robson ignored his second-in-command. He was too occupied staring menacingly into Jamie's eyes.
Harris tried again. 'Mr Robson, sir. The U4.'
This time Robson swung an irritated glance at him, as if to refuse the request. But after quickly thinking better of it, he straightened up, waved his hand, and strutted off.
Harris immediately signalled two engineers to come forward.
They were carrying small transparent gas cylinders with mouth-piece attachments. Harris took one of the cylinders, then all three engineers knelt down beside the Doctor, Jamie, and
'Doc-tor... Doc-tor...'
Although her voice was barely audible, it was enough to produce an immediate response from the Doctor, who was somewhere very close by.
'Victoria! Are you... all right?' He spoke in a strangulated voice, as if the words were stuck in his throat.
'I... I can't move... my legs...'
'I can't move... either... ' Jamie's voice joined them, also from close by. He sounded like his tongue had become too large for his mouth. 'Wh - what's happened to us?'
One thing was clear. The three time-travellers were certainly not dead, and they were no longer on the beach. They were lying flat on their backs, head to head, spread-eagled on the floor of some enormous building, which at the present moment appeared to them as nothing more than a blurred haze. And all around them, odd sounds.
Bleeping, pumping, thumping, electrical, mechanical.
Gradually, the haze began to clear. Two blurred shadowy figures were standing over the trio, each carrying telescopic rifles.
The Doctor managed to focus on them, and regain some of the strength in his voice.
'Would you mind telling us where we are?'
The two blurred figures remained silent, and bent down to take a closer look. Their faces seemed large and oval, grotesque and distorted.
'Why don't you answer?'
Once again Victoria tried to move, but without success.
'Doctor, what have they done to us?' she wailed. Even the ability to cry had been denied her. 'I can't move!'
The Doctor tried rolling the pupils of his eyes, but they felt too heavy and stiff. 'Don't panic, Victoria. I think we've been tranquillised.'
'What!' Jamie was outraged. 'Who do they think they are?'
'I think it's we who should be asking the questions.' A third face joined the two blurred figures. The voice was gruff and bronchial. 'And I shall expect quite a lot of answers.'
The haze had now completely cleared to reveal a burly-looking man, probably in his early fifties, with greying hair, a jutting jaw, and vacant grey eyes. With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the two guards, and studied each of the three helpless figures spread-eagled before him.
Jamie found it agonising to try and move the muscles in his face. 'What is this place?' he croaked.
The man with the jutting jaw leaned closer, enabling Jamie to read the large name-patch on his shiny black plastic uniform: ROBSON, S. CONTROLLER 1 . 'You mean you don't know?' said Robson, the corner of his mouth curling into a cynical smile.
Jamie glared at the jutting jaw with frustrated anger. 'If I could just get up... ' he snarled through clenched teeth.
'I shouldn't try if I were you!' Robson's smile quickly faded.
'You know, lying in this position, it is rather difficult to communicate,' said the Doctor. He was right. He and his two companions did look faintly ridiculous stretched out in such an undignified position on the floor.
'Shall we give them some U4, sir?' The voice was that of a young man in his late twenties. He was a weak-looking individual, with blue eyes, a pale face and gaunt expression, and a mop of blond, unruly hair that constantly flopped carelessly over his right eye. His uniform was too big for him, and he looked as though he could do with a good meal. He had a cultured way of speaking, which was in complete contrast to his boss, Robson. His name-patch showed: HARRIS, F. CONTROLLER 2 .
For a moment, Robson ignored his second-in-command. He was too occupied staring menacingly into Jamie's eyes.
Harris tried again. 'Mr Robson, sir. The U4.'
This time Robson swung an irritated glance at him, as if to refuse the request. But after quickly thinking better of it, he straightened up, waved his hand, and strutted off.
Harris immediately signalled two engineers to come forward.
They were carrying small transparent gas cylinders with mouth-piece attachments. Harris took one of the cylinders, then all three engineers knelt down beside the Doctor, Jamie, and
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