Doctor Who: Terror of the Vervoids (8 page)

‘You’d do that without being asked!’ Her joking was a cover for reluctance as they neared the gate that had been the setting for Edwardes’ death.

‘Hallet was an unorthodox man, Mel, but he was also a subtle man. So why did he resort to blunderbuss tactics?

Why did he use me as a Judas goat?’

‘He was running out of time. The Mayday message said as much.’ She began to quote the message that had appeared on their monitor in the TARDIS.‘ "
perative traitor
be identified before landing Earth
". I’d guess the incomplete word was "imperative", wouldn’t you?’ The memory of that convulsing, electrified body crowded in.

The Doctor, aware of Mel’s thoughts, tried to divert her.

‘I’ve always envied you that, Mel.’

‘Envied me what?’

‘The ability you’ve got for almost total recall.’

‘Compliments! You are undergoing a change!’

‘I could be comparing you with an elephant.

Figuratively speaking,’ he teased, looking fondly at the diminutive Mel whose waist measured a mere twenty-two inches and whose head barely reached to the level of his shoulders. ‘They never forget.’ An unfortunate metaphor that was only too true.

‘Doctor... I realise you’re trying to take my mind off...

poor Edwardes.’

‘If you’d rather wait here...’

Bracing herself, Mel preceded him through the gate.

Following her, the Doctor delved into his pocket, extracting a piece of waxy, olive green leaf. It was the leaf Enzu – or Hallet as he was now know to have been – had found attached to the air duct when he was exploring the hold.

‘What’ve you got there?’ asked Mel.

‘Came from Hallet’s pocket.’

He began darting about the hydroponic centre, trying to find a match for the leaf.

‘I didn’t see you take it.’

‘Neither did anyone else. Another of my skills!’

Intrigued, he was prodding and poking the empty pods.

‘What d’you make of these pods, Mel?’

‘I’m not into agronomy. Ask the Professor.’

‘Thremmatology. The Professor said she was a thremmatologist.’ The texture of the shucks occupied him: a coarse, rubbery membrane.

‘You’re going to have to enlighten me. That’s out of my range.’

‘It’s the science of breeding or propagating animals and plants under domestication.’

Measuring it for size, he stepped inside a pod. The Doctor was tall, but he could have been wearing the busby of a Hussar and yet have height to spare. ‘I’m not much wiser.’

‘Think about it, Mel. You’ve got a good brain. Think.’

He shuffled, positioning himself, sentry-fashion, in the pod. ‘Wonder what came out of here?’

12

‘Will you end this charade!’

The ‘charade’ was Lasky’s slavish adherence to her punishing exercise routine. Clad in a pale blue tracksuit, she was hoisting spring-loaded weights in the well-equipped gym. To Bruchner it was a pathetic pretence of normality.

‘You both know we’re on the brink of disaster!’ The chary Doland was the other recipient of his castigation.

‘All I know is, you’re panicking. There is nothing we can do!’ In contrast with his associate, Doland spoke with his customary stoicism.

‘You’ve no conscience, Doland. I’m aware of that. But you, Professor, I expected you to grasp the enormity of our folly.’

What folly?

Could he be referring to the secret of the isolation room?

Or was he referring to the bursting of the giant pods...

and whatever had escaped from them?

‘So you’re suggesting we jeopardise years of scientific research for the sake of some hypothetical danger?’

countered Doland.

‘Exactly!’ agreed Lasky. ‘We’ve no reason to believe the results of our experiments are other than benign.’

‘Benign!’ Bruchner rubbed his balding pate. ‘Have you been in the isolation room lately, Professor?’

‘An unfortunate mishap that has no relevance to this situation. In any case, it’s academic now.’

‘I lack your lofty detachment!’

‘Do you also lack loyalty, Bruchner? To your colleagues?’ Lasky’s anger was biting. ‘Before we left Mogar, we agreed our discovery should be divulged to no-one –
no-one
– until we reached Earth. Unless you can produce concrete evidence to prove there is danger, I expect you to keep your word!’

Bruchner was not cowed. ‘You simply don’t understand, do you? The crime we’re committing in the name of science will make us infamous!’ He paused. ‘Always assuming there’s anyone left alive to pass judgment, that is!’

This harbinger of woe had a wider audience than just Lasky and Doland.

High up above the parallel bars, blurred by the grille of a vent, was an indistinct shape... The overwrought debate had been witnessed by one of the inhabitants that now infested the air ducts...

Not that this scourge was solely confined to the ventilation system. A removed grille in the bathroom of Cabin Ten was evidence that the menace was spreading...

‘Have you decided to get some rest, sir?’ Janet enquired of the octogenarian Kimber who, troubled by his part in Hallet’s death, had abandoned the lounge to seek the privacy of his cabin.

‘Yes,’ he quavered. ‘Though I doubt that I’ll sleep. At my age, one doesn’t want to be reminded of mortality.’

His gnarled fingers grasped the door knob of Cabin Ten.

‘May I fetch you a warm drink?’

Gratitude lit his wrinkled features. ‘Thank you, that’s very gracious.’

Entering the cabin, Kimber unbuttoned his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe, meticulously smoothing any creases. With the diligent precision of lifelong habit, he unbuckled his wristwatch and laid it fastidiously on the dressing table. Its double dial recorded the hour on Earth and on Mogar simultaneously, and was precious to the old man not for its intrinsic value but because it was a gift from the son he was going to visit. A tiny glow of pleasure ousted thoughts of the murder and he sought solace in memories of the past: in particular, a picnic on the Yorkshire Dales with his four grandchildren.

Uncuffing his shirt sleeves, he slid open the bathroom divider... and immediately recoiled in horror – a waxy, leaf-veined hand shot out and implanted a thorn in the aged man’s scrawny neck.

Venom from the thorn callously strangled his stricken cry. The final picture Mister Kimber had of this life was most assuredly not of his native heath.

A tap-tap on the cabin door. ‘It’s the stewardess, sir. I’ve brought your warm drink.’

With scant regard for the respect usually accorded the dead, Kimber’s body was dragged into the bathroom and the divider closed...

After knocking again, Janet ventured in, expecting to find the elderly passenger awaiting her.

He wasn’t. He’d just turned on the shower. She could hear the gushing water. ‘Shall I put it on the dressing table?’ Not wanting the drink to get cold, she shouted loudly enough to be heard above the splattering spray.

‘Shall I, sir?’ she persisted.

A pause... ‘Ye-e-esss,’ came a sibilant reply.

But not from Mister Kimbcr’s lips.

His lips never moved.

Tapping along beside the silent, musing Doctor, Mel was taking two paces to his one. Used to these reveries, she resisted the temptation to offer him the proverbial ‘penny’

for them.

He was marshalling the questions he intended to put to the scientists about the pods. For, unless he was mistaken, they were central to the mystery.

‘There’s Lasky.’ Mel had spotted the professor, mouth and nostrils muzzled by a surgical mask, exiting from the isolation room. A curt nod to the sentry and she departed in the opposite direction.

The Doctor, instead of pursuing his quarry, came to a precipitate halt.

‘What’s a thremrnatologist been doing in an isolation room wearing a surgical mask?’

‘As there’s only one way to find out, you’ve got two problems,’ replied the ever practical Mel.

‘Two?’

‘Apart from getting rid of the guard, you’re going to need a mask. And you can hardly ask the Professor to lend you hers!’

‘Hmmm.’ The Doctor pondered the problem. As he did so Mel thought she heard a faint, slightly eerie murmuring...

Frowning, she wandered along the corridor, trying to locate its source... As she reached the air duct – the murmuring abruptly ceased.

‘Did you hear that?’

‘Er – what? No. Give me your shoe.’

Although thrown by the unusual request, she complied, tugging off her high-heeled calf-length boot. Retracing his steps to where he had noticed a fire alarm box, the Doctor smashed its glass with the boot’s steel heel.

The clamour of warning bells rang, deafeningly, all over the ship!

Flipping the boot over his shoulder for Mel to catch, the Doctor confiscated a couple of smoke masks and an axe from the array of fire-fighting equipment.

Accompanied by the raucous jangling, he dashed to the sentry. ‘The lounge!’ he yelled, thrusting the axe at him.

‘There are passengers trapped!’

Flummoxed, the sentry hesitated.

‘Quickly, man! On the double! Lives are at stake!’

The hoax succeeded and the gulled dupe ran for the lounge. Tossing Mel a smoke mask, the Doctor donned his own and nipped into the isolation room.

The room was in darkness. Groping for the light, the Doctor switched on.

An oxygen tent shrouded the bed. But unlike an orthodox, transparent oxygen tent, this consisted of opaque, plastic drapes.

With only their eyes visible above the smoke masks, the interlopers exchanged a puzzled look. Never loathe to satisfy his curiosity, the Doctor unzipped the black tent.

Light illuminated the patient.

And what a patient.

On the pillow lay a once-human face. But now it was grotesquely latticed with straggly creepers, vines, and waxy, olive leaves. Across the forehead, a stem pulsated sickeningly.

Revolted by the sight, Mel nevertheless could not resist leaning nearer – the scaly eyelids snapped open – and bony, waxy, leaf-veined hands reached for her throat!

13

Mel screamed and recoiled as the mutant clawed for her throat.

‘No... No...’ The hoarse, rasping protest came from the mutant. Toppling the oxygen tent, the verdant figure lurched from the bed.

Unmistakably human in origin, the arms and body had stems and leaves growing from their veins. But what made the aberration even more repellant was that the stems pulsated as green liquid throbbed along them.

The Doctor yanked Mel clear, placing himself between his young companion and the threat. But the mutant, staggering unsteadily, lunged not for them but for the door.

‘No... Stop her...’ it croaked.

Sharing Mel’s horror, the Doctor was nevertheless perplexed.

‘Stop Lasky...’

Stop Lasky? Distorted though the voice was, that name was quite audible. ‘Stop Lasky –’

The door crashed wide and Lasky herself burst in followed by Doland and Bruchner.

Elbowing the Doctor and Mel aside, Bruchner grappled with the mutant while Lasky diverted to a wall cabinet.

Snatching up a padded muzzle with an aerosol attached, she thrust it over the mutant’s mouth.

‘Get them out of here!’ muttered Lasky.

Doland responded immediately, ushering the trespassers towards the door. Mel needed no second bidding but the Doctor attempted to linger.

‘Out!’ ordered Doland, shoving the Time Lord unceremoniously into the corridor.

‘Stop mauling me!’ The Doctor wrenched free and stripped off the smoke mask.

‘I should drop the innocent party act,’ advised Doland.

‘Any moment now that guard you duped into believing there was a fire will be back. He’s going to be even less enchanted by your antics.’

Mel removed her mask. ‘Never mind the guard! That monstrosity tried to kill me!’

‘Does the Commodore realise what’s being isolated in there?’ The Doctor emphasised the word ‘isolated’.

Pausing before replying, Doland tightened the rein on his anger. ‘I don’t know by whose authority you ask, but if it’ll put an end to your meddling, I’ll explain.’ He glared at Mel. ‘That monstrosity, as you call her, is my lab assistant.

She –’

‘She!’ cut in Mel.

‘Ruth Baxter. We’re taking her to Earth where perhaps they’ll be able to reverse her condition. Our facilities on Mogar were too primitive.’

‘But what happened? How did she get in that state?’ Mel could not come to terms with the nightmare.

‘The experimental nature of our work entails some calculated risks.’

‘Calculated!’ The Doctor’s disgust erupted. ‘You’re admitting that sad travesty was a statistical probability!’

‘The word should be "crimimal"!’ added Mel.

‘Very well, I should have said unforeseen.’ Doland was becoming more and more irritated with these two non-scientists who did not understand the ethics of his profession. However, he realised he had to pacify them in order to prevent them from taking further action. ‘During a particularly delicate cross-fertilisation, a speck of pollen penetrated a minute scratch on my assistant’s thumb. She should never have left it uncovered –’

‘There he is, Mister Rudge!’ Preceding Rudge, the hoodwinked sentry had returned from the lounge. Hastily, the Doctor opted for retreat.

‘Halt or I’ll fire!’ Unholstering his phaser, the sentry took aim. There was no doubting his zeal.

The Doctor came to heel.

‘Oh, Doctor, you do have the knack of landing yourself in hot water.’ Shaking his head benignly, Rudge eased past the sentry.

‘"Satiable curtiosity", like the Elephant’s Child.’

‘Never mind the
Just So
stories!’ Mel knew her Rudyard Kipling from school days. ‘That guard looks trigger-happy to me!’

He did.

‘Simply doing his duty, Miss.’ The word ‘duty’ tripped frequently from Rudge’s tongue. ‘The regulations are quite specific. Any person setting off a false alarm on an intergalactic liner is to be arrested. Forthwith.’

‘There’s no need to quote the book. I can explain.’