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The first thing that struck the Doctor was the simpleness of the buildings and the natives clothing, and the comparative harshness of the mercenaries and their heavy duty weaponry. No one tried to stop him or approached for identification, so the Doctor tucked him umbrella under his arm and strode confidently around the back of the auction curtain. The smell hit him harder than any physical blow ever could and it took a while for him to recover himself.
It was also incredibily dark and this was a help to the pot-bellied jailer, who quietly sneaked up behind the Doctor. 'There's no examining the creatures before you buy them,' he said, ignoring the swearing and curses from the Tharils.
'Actually,' the Doctor said, 'I was curious about that...' he pointed to an imaginary object on the opposite side of the room. The jailer turned to see what the Doctor was talking about and as he did so, the Doctor, with a speed of a bullet, swung his umbrella in a complete arc and clubbed the man to the ground. Satisfied that the man was out cold, he turned to the rows of Tharil cages. A thin voice came from the nearest.
'Is that you, Doctor?'
'It is indeed,' replied the Doctor, 'But who are you?' A scarred Tharil made his way to the front of the cage and the Doctor recognised Lazlo. 'How did you know it was me?'
Lazlo smiled. 'Biroc came to me in a dream. He said you would help us.'
The Doctor smiled. 'Crafty old Biroc,' he thought, 'He must have had it planned all the time. He must have known that I would say yes.' He looked up at Lazlo. 'Yes, Lazlo. I am here to help you.'
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 he auction was in full swing. Cobbil had been sold for 5000 creds and the audience was getting frustrated when no more Tharils came from behind the curtain. Again, the auctioneer called out. 'The next Tharil, jailer.' Still nothing. So the auctioneer shouted to the two nearest mercenaries, 'Go and see what's happened to the fat slob. He's probably asleep.'
The men went behind the curtain and found the fat jailer struggling to his feet. Pointing to the Doctor, still in deep conversation with Lazlo. He whispered, 'He clubbed me down - I think he's Tharil snatching!'
The Doctor turned around and saw two armed guards walking towards him. The first guard spoke: 'On Corision, Tharil snatching is an offence, punishable by death.' Slowly, both men raised the rifles they were carrying, ready to blast the Doctor to oblivion. The Doctor smiled.
'Does it look like I'm Tharil snatching?' he questioned. The guard returned the smile, but with enough coldness in it to freeze an Eskimo.
'You clubbed the jailer down you must have been planning something.' The Doctor's mind was racing. How was he going to get out of this one.
'Just a minute,' he suddenly said, 'I may have a few Tharils hidden in one of my pockets...' and he proceeded to empty his pockets.
'He's a nutter!' said the jailer, 'Shoot him!'
For a second, the guards' attention was diverted - and a second was all that the Doctor needed. The guards glanced back from looking at the jailer to find the Doctor gone. Carefully, they edged forwards, and were greeted by the shape of the Doctor swinging from the rafters on the low ceiling. A well placed foot in each guards face was all it took and the Doctor turned and ran towards a door at the back of the prison block.
The fat jailer grabbed the rifles and tried to fire the unfamiliar weapons. He succeeded in only blowing his head into a bloody mess that drained into the straw cover floor and started to dribble towards the stage. The headless body fell forward, blood spurting from the stump that had been his fat neck.
The Tharils went wild, cheering and clapping. The auctioneer heard this and turned towards the curtain. He was horrified and astounded to see a stream of blood trickling under the curtain.
'Erm, I declare this, err, sale closed.' he said and went behind the curtain and he was then extremely sick.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
he Doctor knew nothing of the jailer's horrific death, as he hadn't stopped running until the noise of the cheering Tharils was a long way away. He found himself in front of a metal door and a small control panel. 'Strange,' he thought. He removed the front panel, tinkered with the wires within and the doors slid silently open. The room was small and the main attraction was a large glass tube and a set of controls. 'A pre-set trans-mat!' said the Doctor, sounding almost overjoyed at his find. 'But where does it lead? Only one way to find out,' he said, and stood in the tube. He rubbed the cat on his left lapel for the second time that day and pressed the button marked "Trans-mat".
At first, nothing. Then the Doctor could feel himself being bathed in a stream of golden light. He opened his eyes and found himself in a similar trans-mat room. He opened the door and stepped down form the tube. He removed a panel similar to the one on the other door and did a bit more tampering. The door opened and the Doctor met a sight that almost knocked his breath away.
In the centre of what was obviously the control room, there was a tall plinth, on which floated a giant glowing fireball, pulsating and expanding, as though it was breathing. 'The heart of the Zero Point.', the Doctor breathed, 'Just as Biroc said. So this is how the Taligions keep their hold over the Tharils'. He removed a panel nearest him and started rewiring it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
 eanwhile, on the surface of the planet, the guards were explaining to Commander Thaup who the man, that attacked, was. 'But his clothes were nothing like I've ever seen before. They were outlandish and...'
'...disgusting,' continued the second guard.
Thaup, a tall man in his mid-forties, smiled and exposed a row of sharp filed metallic teeth. 'We'll have to set an example, wont we?' He turned to the cages of Tharils. 'Take that one and execute it in the market place.' He turned on his heel and left.
The Tharil whose execution had just been announced was Lazlo.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
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