Doctor Who: Terror of the Vervoids (3 page)

‘How I’ve kept up with you these last three months is a constant source of wonder to me!’

‘No-one sends a Mayday unless it’s a matter of life and death.’ Mel’s piping tones echoed round the enormous void.

‘Yes, well let’s exercise the little grey cells instead of the muscles for once, shall we?’

A wise precaution although he did not realise how wise at that moment, for he had not spotted a figure darting through the stacks of cargo.

‘This wasn’t an ordinary call. It was beamed specifically to the TARDIS.’ No simple feat. Contact with the TARDIS communicator could not be made fortuitously.

‘So it was from somebody who knows you,’ stated Mel.

Another figure, still unseen by Mel and the Doctor, sprinted between the crates.

‘Then why wasn’t it signed?’

‘Panic. Desperation. We won’t find out by hanging about in here, will we?’ Once Mel got the bit between her teeth she was unstoppable! She was no wilting flower, despite being only four feet ten without her high-heeled boots and as slim as a willow in her cream pants-suit.

‘We won’t go blundering into a trap either!’

‘I’ve never seen this side of you before. You’re the one who usually charges in regardless.’

Certainly the Doctor seemed reluctant to proceed. He squinted towards a section cordoned off behind a mesh fence. ‘Can’t you sense it, Mel?’

‘Sense what?’

‘Evil. There’s evil in this place.’ He retreated to the TARDIS. ‘I have a better suggestion. We’ll go to –’

‘Doctor!’ The barrel of a phaser was levelled at Mel’s temple by a maroon-uniformed guard.

‘-Pyro Shika.’ The Doctor had not interrupted his flow of thought or looked round. ‘A fascinating planet with –’

‘Doctor!’

This time he could not ignore Mel’s cry of alarm because a phaser was now poking into his spine! The two sinister figures had been guards on duty. Mel and the Doctor had become their captives.

‘So much for your enthusiasm!’ The Doctor whispered to Mel. ‘Let me do the talking!’ Mustering what was meant to be an innocent and beguiling smile, he cajoled the guard. ‘Now, listen, my man, I can explain –’

‘Shut up! Move!’ He matched the instruction with a sharp prod.

Mel, frightened but not intimidated, reproved the Doctor. ‘You certainly talked us out of trouble there!’

Touché.
Having no adequate response, the Doctor, thrust by the intractable guard, stumbled towards the door.

From deeper within the shadowy bowels of the hold, a third figure had witnessed the arrival and capture of the Doctor and Mel.

Unlike the guards, he was enveloped in a silver, skin-tight suit and helmet. Another Mogarian – the late boarder the stewardess had mentioned. He was distinguished from his compatriots by a gold sash. Like them, his name ended in a vowel and contained a ‘z’: he was called Enzu.

Alone, he abandoned his hiding place and strode to the cordoned-off sector. Bathed in a suffused ochre glow, it was difficult to identify what lay behind the closely-meshed fence. A notice attached to the locked gate read:
HIGH INTENSITY LIGHT FORBIDDEN.

LOW SPECTRUM LIGHT ONLY.

After a cursory inspection of the palm-print-recognition lock, Enzu directed his attention to the tungsten links clinching the mesh fence to a post.

‘You never heard anything?’

Unaware that a burglary was underway, and two intruders had joined the ship’s company, Security Officer Rudge was quizzing the drug-confused Edwardes on the bridge.

‘Not a sound.’

‘Nor saw anything?’

‘I’ve already told you.’

‘No-one’s blaming you, laddie. But I thought perhaps now your head’s clearer...’

‘I was concentrating on the unidentified craft.’

‘From which you failed to get a response.’

Suppressing a sigh of irritation, the Commodore intervened. ‘Mister Edwardes, what about the tape?’

Unlike Rudge, the Commodore was a man who exuded authority. Grey-haired, clean shaven, immaculately groomed, his dark eyes barely concealed the growing impatience with which he was witnessing his subordinate’s bumbling debriefing of the Communications Officer.

Edwardes’ attitude underwent a change. ‘Deactivated, sir.’

‘Which indicates knowledge of our procedures.’ A clue to the attacker’s identity. But a slim one. It meant only that he or she knew that all messages sent or received were automatically monitored and taped.

‘Just my thoughts too, Commodore.’ Rudge could sense the initiative slipping away from him.

‘I’m sure.’ The emphasis left no-one in doubt as to the Commodore’s estimation of Rudge. Including Rudge himself.

‘How about the rest of the equipment?’

‘In perfect order, sir.’ Deference now from Edwardes.

‘That leaves only one objective your assailant could have had.’

‘To send a message.’ Rudge’s attempt to get back into the driving seat received a peremptory rebuff.

‘I was trying not to state the obvious, Mister Rudge.’

Dismissively, the Commodore swung his chair to face the command console beyond which he could see, through a wall-to-ceiling window, the endless horizon of star-dappled space. ‘Report to the Medic before returning to duty, Edwardes.’

‘Thank you, sir –’

‘Will you stop poking that contraption into my spine!’

It was the Doctor’s voice. He and Mel were being unceremoniously shunted onto the bridge by the guards.

Instead of leaving, Edwardes lingered, casting an appreciative glance at the attractive Mel.

‘We heard a noise in the cargo hold, Mister Rudge,’ one of the guards began to explain, ‘and found these two–’

‘Is it?’ Completely ignoring the guard, the Doctor advanced, hand outstretched, on the Commodore. ‘Yes, it is! Captain Travers!’

The proffered hand was assiduously ignored as the Commodore eyed the Doctor. ‘Commodore.’ He patently did not share the Time Lord’s delight at renewing an acquaintanceship. ‘Of all the places in this infinite Universe, you have to turn up on my ship!’

‘Commodore? Then we must be on a Grade One Security Craft.’

‘And
I’d
like to know how you got here!’ Feeling the business of dealing with stowaways was his department, Rudge attempted to assume the role of interrogator.

It was a wasted effort. ‘Don’t bother, Rudge.
I
know how. What I don’t know is why!’

‘Didn’t you signal us?’

‘Me!’ The Commodore’s tone left little doubt that the Doctor would be the last person he’d signal!

‘A Mayday call. We had to respond.’ Mel had been silent for long enough. It was not in her nature to be passive.

Edwardes, obviously taken with the vivacious redhead, and conscious that his superior officer operated on a very short fuse, leapt to her support. ‘That’s true, sir.’

He received a snub for his pains. ‘I’m fully conversant with the Navigational Code, Mister Edwardes. I thought you were reporting to the Medic.’

‘Er – yes – sir.’ With a tentative smile at Mel, he hurried off.

The Commodore had not finished with castigating the Doctor. ‘I authorised no Mayday signal.’

The Time Lord’s shrug did nothing to allay his suspicion.

‘My Communication Officer’s attacked – then
you
appear!’

‘And a fat lot of thanks we’ve got for our pains!’ Mel wasn’t prepared to let anyone ride roughshod over her or the Doctor.

‘If I seem to lack gratitude, young woman –’

‘Melanie, known as Mel,’ interjected the Doctor.

‘-it is because on the previous occasion the Doctor’s path crossed mine, I found myself involved in a web of mayhem and intrigue!’

‘I saved your ship, Commodore.’

‘Yes, you did. Though whether it would have been at risk without your intervention is another matter.’

‘Whatever happened in the past doesn’t alter the fact that a Mayday call was sent.’ Like her plans for slimming down the Doctor, Mel never gave up, once committed.

The Time Lord was prepared to. ‘But – not sent by you, Commodore. So let’s make this hail and farewell.’

‘Stand easy, Doctor!’ No compromise in the Commodore’s tone. ‘You’re not leaving.’

‘We’re not?’

‘I’d rather have you where I can see you than swanning around outside.’ He addressed the guard. ‘Conduct them to the lounge.’ A final order to the visiting pair. ‘Consider yourselves restricted to the passenger quarters.’

Mel resented the dictatorial manner. ‘In other words, welcome aboard.’

Unable to suppress a small grin at her cheeky parting crack, the Commodore swung his command chair about in order to study the longitude and latitude grid superimposed on the navigational window.

‘Stowaways! I could’ve done without that on my final service report.’ Rudge’s comment was addressed to the Commodore’s back.

‘If you’re expecting an easy ride on your last voyage, Mister, I’m afraid you’re not going to get it!’ The Commodore had no doubts about the trouble potential of the Time Lord.

‘I think you’re being a mite unfair, sir,’ bleated Rudge.

‘Am I? Well, don’t be too diligent in policing the Doctor.’

‘Can I have clarification of that instruction, sir?’

‘Give him enough rope – and he’ll snare our culprit for us.’

The Commodore knew the Doctor well!

The Commodore might have been less sanguine, however, had he known of Enzu’s activities.

Having breached the wire mesh, the Mogarian discovered what appeared to be a hydroponic centre dominated by giant plants. Two metres in height and almost a metre in diameter, the tall sentinels were pod-shaped with dark-green, leafy exteriors.

Giving the freakish plants a wide berth, Enzu entered a small hut and switched on the light.

This was no gardener’s potting shed. It contained scientific apparatus, test-tubes, balances and pipettes.

All of this received only a perfunctory glance. Enzu’s interest was in the rows of jars, each containing a collection of seeds. He unscrewed the jar labelled
DEMETER
and tipped its contents onto his palm. The silver, bean-shaped seeds were like none he had ever seen before.

Had he glanced through the open door, he would have seen an even more intriguing sight. The beam of light streaming from the but had illuminated a giant pod. No longer lulled by the soft, ochre, low spectrum light, bathed instead in the ray of harsh, high spectrum white, the pod had begun to pulsate gently...

The seeds clasped in his gloved hand, Enzu replaced the jar and quit the hut.

The beam of light was immediately extinguished... the pulsating of the awakened pod subsided...

But for how long?

Had Enzu unwittingly begun a process that could not be halted?

4

Travelling as a passenger was an unusual experience for the Doctor. He was used to being master of his own destiny.

Ensconced in a chair, feet up on another, he seemed to have accepted his role. Janet was circulating among other guests in the lounge, offering refreshments. When she approached him, he reached for a couple of chocolate biscuits – Mel vetoed that!

Sighing, he allowed the inviting delicacies to pass. The disappointed glare he gave his slim, young companion was soon superseded by genuine concern. After all, she was virtually a prisoner.

‘Not quite the carefree life of Pease Pottage, Sussex, Mel.’

‘Have you heard me complaining?’

He mustered a weak smile that did not convince her.

‘You’re really worried, aren’t you?’ she asked.

‘I can’t rid myself of the feeling I’m being manipulated.

Whoever sent that signal knew me.’

Ever the pragmatist, Mel had a ready solution. ‘There’s a made-to-measure candidate.’

‘There is?’

‘The Commodore. He’s met you before.’

‘He’d’ve said.’

‘Would he? Admit he needs outside assistance!’

‘An intriguing possibility. But that’s all.’

Enzu entered the lounge. Nothing in his demeanour gave any hint of his earlier pilfering in the hydroponic centre. Nor did the Doctor show any but a transient interest as Enzu settled down at a nearby VDU.

Mel’s reaction was simply to lower her voice. ‘Look, the quickest way out of this is to solve the mystery.’

Ostensibly deeply absorbed in the novel she was reading, Lasky noisily turned a page.

‘That could also be the quickest way into trouble.’ Was the Doctor as indifferent to the activity around him as he appeared to be?

Mel did not deviate from her theme. ‘Why don’t you ask for the passenger list?’

‘Don’t hustle me, Mel.’

‘Who’s hustling? All I’m saying is you might recognise a name. Simple, isn’t it?’

Her plans for occupying the Doctor roused his suspicions. ‘Meanwhile?’

‘Meanwhile, I go for a wander. Poke my nose into the nooks and crannies and see if anyone tries to make contact.

Remember,’ she said, rising, ‘we were restricted to the passenger quarters.’ A mischievous grin. ‘This is only the lounge...’

Glad to be taking some action, she stepped spritely for the exit.

Did the Doctor, still reclining lazily, notice the opaque goggles of Enzu following Mel’s progress?

If he did, he gave no sign.

Somebody else was interested in Mel’s progress, too.

In the deserted corridor, she was trying the door of the nearest cabin when she heard footsteps. She scampered to where there was a plan of the ship’s interior fixed to the wall.

The pursuer was Rudge.

‘Looking for something, Miss?’ His pose was overtly polite but beneath their pale lashes his eyes regarded her sceptically.

‘Er – I see you’ve a gymnasium.’ Quick thinking on Mel’s part.

‘Need it on a long trip like this.’ He was equal to the subterfuge.

‘Thought I might do a bit of limbering up.’

‘That’s the spirit. I’ll take you there.’ The perfect ship’s officer, anxious to keep the passengers happy!

A reasonable assumption.

Not for Mel. She was blunt. ‘So you can keep tabs on me?’

Rudge’s polite smile widened into a grin. ‘Now, Miss,’

he chuckled. ‘Why would I want to do that?’

With a diplomatic indication in the direction of the gym, he escorted her along the corridor.