Doctor Who: Terror of the Vervoids (13 page)

When you hear the fire alarm, dive for cover.’

‘No.’

‘What d’you mean. no?’

‘It’s too risky. Attack the bridge.’

‘The bridge?’

‘You heard! Now get out of that air duct. Quickly!’

She did. But not quickly enough. The occupants on the bridge were about to be attacked. Only not in the way the Doctor would have wanted.

‘What are you doing here?’ Atza swivelled the command chair as the door slid open. ‘We did not request refreshments –’

Before Atza could finish his objection, a shower of liquid was thrown.

But the liquid spraying the Mogarians was neither coffee nor mineral water. It was a corrosive acid that began burning into the material of their protective suits.

Soon each sprinkled droplet became a hole...

Exposed to the pernicious, oxygenated air, Atza and Ortero clutched at their throats... and sagged to the deck...

21

‘Not only we kill humankind. They kill each other.’ The sibilant conclusions of the First Vervoid hissed around the bulkhead.

Its plant-like confederates nodded bud-shaped heads in agreement with their leader’s condemnation. The closely-matted leaves that cloaked their torsos rustled: they were impatient to resume the culling that would eradicate the flawed species.

‘Humans have no respect for any form of life,’ their self-appointed mentor declared. Then came the edict they were awaiting: ‘We shall resume the hunt.’

The Second Vervoid was already cn route for its next victim. Crawling along the narrow air duct, it reached the grille in the isolation room and eased its sinewy body through the gap.

Sweeping the black plastic tent apart, the creature’s aggressive, irridescent eyes glared with disgust at the travesty on the bed: the pulsating stems laced the smooth skin, and foliage sprouted from the ears of the still recognisably human features.

Rubbery mouth widening with revulsion, the Vervoid thrust its waxy talons at the mutant’s throat.

Ruth Baxter’s lips separated for a scream that never came... the noxious thorn was already embedded in the soft flesh of her neck.

‘Death must have been instantaneous. Oxygen’s toxic for a Mogarian,’ pronounced Doland.

Mel had relayed the Doctor’s instructions to him and Janet. In consequence, they had marshalled several guards who, phasers at the ready, had invaded the bridge.

An abortive mission. The anticipated resistance did not happen. Both Mogarians lay dead.

‘Yes, but how?’ An irrelevant question. The acid burns on the suits and helmets told Mel how. ‘I mean – who could have done this?’

‘Forget playing detective! Let’s concentrate on the living.’ Doland did not want to be drawn into an inquest.

‘The hostages?’ she asked.

‘Rudge has to be convinced the hijack’s a lost cause. It’ll take more than words.’

A justified observation. Mel had reported that the Security Officer was holding the occupants of the lounge at phaser point.

‘Well..’ Rarely the defeatist, Mel had hit on an idea. She faltered though, not relishing what she was about to suggest. ‘Those helmets... They’d do the trick...’

Assuming command, Doland motioned the guards to remove the Mogarian’s helmets.

The faces, when they were unmasked, were a revelation: their classically sculpted features were enhanced by the glowing gold of an unblemished skin. Despite the trauma of their deaths, in final repose Atza’s and Ortezo’s expressions were aesthetically gentle.

‘Mister Rudge, hold your fire we’re coming in.’

Entering with hands raised, Mel led the deputation into the lounge.

The Mogarians are dead,’ Janet told him.

Doland did not bother with verbal explanation. He hurled the Mogarian masks at Rudge’s feet.

Disbelief chasing astonishment, the Security Officer tried to come to terms with his new predicament. But the element of surprise was sufficient for Doland to chop at the phaser.

It dropped, skittered across the floor, to be seized by the Commodore.

The reversal punctuated Rudge’s recently acquired arrogance. Desperately, he shoved Doland into Mel and scarpered. The Duty Officer attempted to give chase.

‘Leave him to the guards! Get to the bridge!’ The liner was, presumably, on autopilot, but the Commodore wanted no more hitches.‘ Now!’ he bawled when the Duty Officer did not move fast enough. ‘Once I’ve got this ship back on course, I want some answers!’ This was said to the Doctor but Lasky was not spared either. ‘And that goes for you, Professor!’ Back to the Doctor again: ‘A great ally you’ve proved to be!’

‘I haven’t been holding out on you. There’s an audio tape that will make everything clear.’

‘Then why haven’t I heard it?’ Compromise was not on the Commodore’s schedule.

‘It’s been stolen. I’d like carte blanche to search all cabins.’

‘You’ve got it.’ Moving away.

‘Another request.’

The Commodore halted.

‘I need a phaser.’

Without hesitation, the Commodore thrust Rudge’s phaser at the Doctor and quit the lounge.

‘A phaser?’ Mel had understood that any form of fire-arm was repugnant to the Time Lord.

‘Exceptional circumstances call for exceptional measures.’

‘I don’t buy that.’ Compliantly she was allowing him to steer her further away from Lasky and Doland. ‘And why the public announcement about the tape? Everyone could hear.’

‘Oh, could they?’ The fair eyebrows were raised disingenuously.

‘I recognise that innocent tone. What’s going on?’

‘I came into this affair as a Judas goat. I’m readopting the role.’ A glance at Lasky. ‘Mel, the tape. If Lasky has it, where d’you think she’d hide it?’ His speech now was in a lower register.

‘Lasky? Her cabin. Or her locker in the gym.’

The locker in the gymn was a promising idea, but all Mel found there was the pale blue track suit.

Reluctant to give up that easily, she began searching for any hidden pockets – a hand thumped onto her shoulder!

‘If you’ve finished with my track suit –!’ Lasky pursed her mouth to contain her fury.

‘I – um – was admiring the – er – design.’

‘Don’t bother to lie. You’re not very good at it!’

Grabbing the suit, she yanked the pockets inside out. ‘No tape! That
is
what you were hoping to find, isn’t it?’

If Mel’s bluff was being called, that was nothing compared with what was happening to Rudge.

Escape was a forlorn dream, but hope is ever present in a man’s psyche. As Security Officer he was required to know every nook and cranny in the capacious liner: if he could find a hiding place... Panting, he descended to the labyrinthine bowels of the vessel and crept through a lower galery – a Vervoid blocked his way!

He spun around – another Vervoid shuffled from a storeroom.

‘What – what are you?’

The hunters began closing in.

‘Stay away from me!’ Stupefied by the alien sight, Rudge sidled along the wall... but in the air duct, a third Vervoid, its staring eyes unblinking, prepared to accept its victim...

For Rudge there was to be no escape.

22

The Doctor’s search of a suspect’s cabin was interrupted by the arrival of its occupant. ‘You won’t find the tape in there.’

‘Does that mean you’ve hidden it elsewhere?’

‘Obviously a denial isn’t going to impress you. May I know of what I’m accused?’

‘Murder. Among other things.’

‘Am I supposed to treat that seriously?’

‘I’ve narrowed the suspects down to two. You and Professor Lasky.’

‘Then I suggest you search the Professor’s cabin.’

‘I already have.’

‘You really are serious!’

‘I’m never frivolous about murder.’

‘And this tape. It’s important?’

‘Crucial.’

‘I see... Well, I know I’m innocent. And I can’t believe the Professor’s guilty. But if it will end this nonsense...’ A reluctant disclosure. ‘There is another place where she keeps her things.’

Scratching his cheek with the phaser, the Doctor indicated Doland to lead the way.

It was to the work but the pair went. Doland showed him a drawer. But no amount of tugging on the Doctor’s part made it budge.

‘The Professor’s got the only key.’

‘And you’re not going to object if I force it open.’

Doland shrugged.

Placing the phaser on the bench, the Doctor, using an anti-locking device, opened the drawer and began foraging.

‘Don’t bother, Doctor.’ Doland slid the tape from the pocket of his fawn tabard.

He tossed it, knowing the Doctor would automatically go to catch it. He did – and Doland snatched up the phaser.

Feeling safe now, he smiled. ‘Not that the tape’ll do you much good. I’ve wiped it.’

‘I rather thought you might have.’ The Doctor was remarkably cool.

‘You suspected me yet you came down here?’

‘A reckless streak I’m prone to.’ It had not been difficult to pinpoint Doland. Not once the facts were analysed. ‘The first murder had to be committed by someone who had access to this unit.’ The reference was to Edwardes’

electrocution, the booby trap that had been meant for the inquisitive Mel. ‘The second needed poison.’ He indicated the bottles and flasks, any of which could have contained the poison administered to Hallet. ‘Even the abortive attempt on Mel’s life could only have been carried out by someone able to go unchallenged into the isolation room to get the anaesthetic.’

‘All of which could have applied to Lasky.’

‘Not the Mogarians. She was a hostage when they were slaughtered.’

The concise and correct summing up came as stale news to Doland.

Not to another listener though.

At the air duct in the cargo hold, peering from an angle just acute enough to bring the two men into view, were the baleful, vermilion features of the Second Vervoid.

‘And my motive?’ Gone was the subservience. Doland’s feeling of superiority was vested in his possession of the phaser.

‘Could have been jealousy. Professional envy. But I’d say it’s the more commonplace avarice.’

‘Then you’re not as astute as I thought. These creatures

– we call them Vervoids – represent economic power.’

‘Providing you can deliver them to Earth.’

‘Oh, but I will. No matter what the cost.’ Like many criminals, Doland was unable to resist boasting: vanity required that ingenuity and cleverness be accorded their accolade. The scientist was being afforded his moment of glory in complete security: the Doctor would be dead before he could alert the authorities. Triumph made him expansive. ‘Then robots can be dumped on the scrap heap.

Vervoids will run factories and farms at practically no cost.

All they need is sunlight and water.’

‘I take it you have allies willing to finance this exploitation.’

‘A consortium with the vision to see the potential of the Vervoids.’

‘Vision! You’re talking about slave labour!’

‘The most enduring and spectacular empire – Rome –

was built on slave labour.’

‘Came to an unpleasant end though.’

‘Which brings us neatly to you.’ He fired the phaser. A click. Nothing more.

He fired again.

Same result.

‘I took the precaution of disarming it.’

A prerequisite of murder is an inflated conceit – a belief in one’s inviolability. Disbelief jockeying with reality, Doland glared at the Doctor: how could this buffoon have outwitted him?

Enraged at being duped, he slung the useless phaser at the Time Lord and ran from the hut – into an implacable squad of guards fronted by the Commodore!

‘I also took the precaution of taking the Commodore into my confidence.’ Under cover of accepting the phaser, the Doctor had slipped a warning note to the Commodore after their rescue in the lounge.

‘Throw him in the brig!’

Flanked by his escort, Doland was despondent. The section they were negotiating was dimly lit and spartan.

‘Catacombs!’ he thought, bitterly: an apt setting for his shattered ambitions. But the delinquent scientist would have regarded the brig as a safe haven had he known what really lay in wait.

The ambush, when it was sprung, was swift and grimly efficient.

Forced into single file by a restricted aisle, the armed guards were despatched by the lurking Vervoids with dispassionate ease. Not expecting attack, and awestruck by the grotesque nature of their asssailants, the unfortunate men failed even to unholster their weapons before the lethal thorns felled them.

The sole survivor, Doland found himself confronted by the Second Vervoid. Escape was not a possibility: the operation had been co-ordinated. Having executed the first stage, the rest of the Vervoids completed the second. He was encircled.

‘No! Stop! I’m not your enemy!’ Doland’s innate opportunism reasserted itself. ‘Without me you wouldn’t exist.’ He gazed imploringly at each bud-shaped head framed by an ivory-brown corolla, seeking a hint of expression.

There was none. Even the eyes were impassive.

The scientist’s vanity rejected defeat: these Vervoids were his creation and, therefore, of inferior intellect.

‘There is so much more I could do for you.’ He relaxed. The ploy had worked. The Second Vervoid was extending its hand.

Suffused by a warm glow of relief, Doland clasped the waxy, leaf-veined fingers in a seal of mutual friendship.

But his confident grin wavered into uncertainty as he released his grasp... sticking into his moist palm was a thorn.

Through the dismal mist of approaching death, the final sentence the murderer, Doland heard was:

‘Vervoids will never be enslaved..

23

‘You created these psychopaths. Now tell me how to get rid of them!’ On the bridge, the Commodore swung his command chair towards Lasky. His outburst was merited.

Spurred on by their mounting pile of corpses, the Vervoids were attacking at will. Corridors and cabins became death-traps for the unwary.

‘The Vervoids are not psychopaths.’