Doctor Who: War Machine (3 page)

‘Here we go,’ said Polly. ‘Behind the bar again, is it?’ ‘That too,’ said Kitty. ‘But a little Good Samaritan work first.’

‘Like what?’

‘Remember the sailor at the weekend?’

‘Propping up the bar?’

‘Right.’

‘Not especially.’

‘Well, he’s here again And it’s giving the place a bad name.’

‘Not behaving?’

‘Behaving all right. But he’s so miserable he’s putting a damper on the place.’

‘What can I do about it?’

‘If you set your mind to it..

‘Okay. Flattery will get you anywhere.’

‘There he is, at the end of the bar. He just sits and mopes.’

‘So I see. No great advertisement for the place, is he?’ They could see through the crowd a naval rating, sitting on a high stool at the end of the bar, looking balefully at nothing.

‘He really has a problem,’ Polly agreed. ‘I might need your help, Dodo. Stick with me.’

Dodo followed her. Polly looked as though she were going to walk past the young man, but she stopped suddenly.

‘Well, hello!’ she said in surprise. ‘Didn’t we meet a couple of days ago?’

He gradually focused on her. A tiny flicker of interest managed to creep into his eyes.

‘I think we did.’

‘You think?’ Polly appeared to be indignant. ‘You think we met! I must have made a real impression!’ ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that.’

‘Sorry! He says he’s sorry!’ Polly gestured to Dodo in disgust. ‘And as I remember it you were just as cheerful last time.’

‘No law against that, is there?’ said the sailor.

‘Not if you’ve nothing better to do... And with that face. Look... I’ll show you.’

She climbed onto the next stool and imitated the sailor’s glum expression.

‘Bad as that?’ he asked as he watched her.

‘Worse,’ she told him. ‘What’s the problem?’ ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘Try me.’

‘You’d think I’m some kind of nut.’

‘You probably are. But press on regardless.’

‘Well... It’s my ship... and my mates... They’ve gone off to the West Indies, and I’ve got a shore posting... for the next six months.’

‘I see. So you’re missing all that South Sea Island stuff. Waving palms, blue skies, warm seas, white beaches. You’re stuck here in barracks?’

‘If you’ve finished cheering me up..

‘Come on, Dodo. I can’t stand someone who’s sorry for himself... and can’t take a joke.’

She started to move away, but her way was barred by a tall young man with long hair and a smug expression. ‘Try me, darling,’ he said confidently. ‘I’ve got a great sense of humour.’

‘You’d have to have,’ agreed Polly. ‘And get your arm out of the way.’

‘You don’t mean it.’

‘It might surprise you... ’ began Polly.

‘Flash is the name.’

‘It might surprise you, Flash, but I find you tedious.’ ‘Promise you, darling, you’ll have a better time with me than with Shorty here –’ He jerked his thumb at the sailor. ‘So let’s give it a go.’

He grabbed her arm and moved towards the dancers. Polly pulled away.

The sailor slipped off the high stool. ‘On your way, mate,’ he said.

‘Go and play toy boats,’ said Flash unpleasantly.

‘Push off, half-pint.’

The sailor moved so fast that Flash didn’t have a chance. He was in a grip that had him helpless. ‘Lay off! You’ll break my back!’

‘Time you went home,’ said the sailor quietly. He let the other man go. Flash spun round on hint, but the sailor was ready, karate-style.

‘I said, go home.’

For a couple of seconds Flash thought about snatching up a handy bottle, but he changed his mind. ‘You’ve put my back out,’ he grimaced. ‘I’ll sue you for that.’

‘You do that,’ said the sailor.

As Flash made for the exit, Polly said, ‘Thanks. I owe you for that, sailor... Or do you have a name?’ He let his face crack into a smile. ‘Ben,’ he said. ‘Ben Jackson.’

From where she stood Kitty watched the two of them move onto the dance floor.

‘Nice going,’ she said under her breath.

The Doctor viewed with approval the way they had prepared the press conference at the Royal Scientific Club. Even the journalists appeared to make sense of the exhibits. The development of Computers was displayed and documented, with explanations, photographs and designs.

The main exhibit – and the one that drew the biggest crowd – was a life-size model of Wotan. The Doctor had almost begun to view him as an old friend. Well, perhaps ‘friend’ was the wrong word. Wotan would have to reveal not only his intelligence– and the Doctor needed no further evidence about that – but would also have to prove it had something like a heart. The Doctor was surprised to find himself thinking in these terms, for after all, a computer does not have a heart! It is not a sentient being. It has no ethics, no morality – no conscience. It is only the sum total of its parts, plus the knowledge which has been fed into it. It cannot be wiser or cleverer than the brains that created it... Or could it? That was the question the Doctor now asked himself. And he hoped at this juncture to get some idea of the answer.

But very little had come out of the conference that the Doctor did not already know. A panel of officials and scientists sat on a platform answering questions from the floor. Lapel badges indicated the committee members, led by their Chairman Sir Charles Summer. Beside him sat Professor Krimpton. It was indeed a high-level panel that had been put together, though on the other side of Sir Charles, the Doctor noted an empty chair.

‘You’ve heard the backroom boys,’ announced Sir Charles. ‘I just want to remind you that C-Day – Computer Day– is next Monday, three days’ time. Then all sophisticated communication systems in this country, and in many other parts of the world, will be linked with this central control we call Wotan, and will in fact be subservient to it. Professor Krimpton has told you of its peaceful and military capacity. I need hardly point out what an enormous step forward this is for Britain and, I think I may say, for the rest of the world.’ There was a sea of waving papers from the floor.

‘Doesn’t this put a lot of power into the hands of whoever operates Wotan?’ The journalists were already writing the headline... ‘Bureaucrats, the new Dictators’.

‘No one operates Wotan,’ protested Sir Charles. ‘He operates himself. A computer is merely a mechanism which thinks logically, solving a problem without any political or private end. A disinterested intelligence, making calculations, providing truthful answers, structured by mathematical laws. It has no imaginative powers.’

‘No way of supplying false answers?’ came the question from the floor.

‘Not if it has been correctly programmed. And that is certainly the case with Wotan. Don’t forget, such a mechanism is merely our servant.’

‘And this "thinking" that you say it does... Is the process similar to the way we think?’

‘When we think logically and without emotion, then yes. That is how Wotan functions, but in his case with fantastic speed and accuracy, able to handle hundreds of problems at once, without mistakes.’

‘How about if it gets so smart it decides to get along without people?’

There was a burst of laughter, and the question was the signal for the break-up of the meeting.

Sir Charles indicated the empty chair beside him. ‘I expected Professor Brett to have been here by now. He should have answered most of these questions.’

Krimpton leant across. ‘You know what he’s like, Sir Charles. He gets so involved with his work..

‘All very well. But this is really his show.’ He turned to the audience. ‘Bear with us, gentlemen. Professor Brett will be along in a moment or two.’

At the back of the room the Doctor frowned. So Brett was supposed to be there? He wondered uneasily what had happened to him. He moved away, and found himself staring at the model of Wotan.

Brett first had telephone calls which delayed him, and now that he was ready to go, he knew something was wrong. The security graph that recorded entry to this restricted part of the Tower was inaccurate. A series of small breaks appeared, as though the mechanism had developed a hiccup. Or perhaps an irregular entry had been made, the graph had started to record it, and then it had been overridden. For that to happen once was unusual, but this appeared to have taken place about a dozen times in the last hour. Security had been about to move into the alert sector, and each time it had been prevented. Could someone have been interfering with the alarm signal? Was there someone in the Restricted area? He felt suddenly apprehensive, looking round the room nervously. There was only the familiar sight of Wotan ticking quietly, flickering lights... nothing out of place. And yet the Professor was overcome by a strange uneasiness.

He was late for the conference, but he couldn’t leave with these doubts in his mind. He disliked calling in Major Green unnecessarily, but this was an emergency. The Major answered the buzzer immediately.

‘Still here, Professor? I thought you had to go to this conference?’

‘Have you been on duty yourself?’ asked Brett. ‘Why, yes.’ The Major was surprised.

‘Our usual Security screens are in operation?’ ‘Of course.’

‘So you would know if... well, if there had been an intruder?’

The Professor was so unlike his normally bland and relaxed self that the Major looked at him sharply. ‘There’s been a complete security screen on the Restricted Section. It functions night and day. Why? Have you any reason to suspect anything?’

‘The Recorder Graph has developed a fault.’ Brett indicated the print. ‘One can’t be too careful.’

‘Of course not.’

‘Besides..’ Brett hesitated. He wasn’t a man to give way to irrational fears. ‘I’ve had an odd feeling this last hour or so. As if I were being watched. As though a stranger were somewhere around.’

‘I can assure you,’ said the Major, ‘you and I are the only people in this part of the Tower. The rest of the staff are attending the conference.’

‘I must go.’ Brett started to cram papers into his briefcase. ‘Sorry, Major. I think I’ve been overdoing things lately. Next week I intend to start a long holiday.’

‘Good night, sir.’ The Major went back to his office. He had suggested several weeks ago that Professor Brett took a holiday. The man had worked himself into the ground perfecting that confounded computer of his!

Brett suddenly stopped packing his case. None of these papers were relevant. He was behaving in an extraordinary fashion. He knew it... But why? He couldn’t help it. He was suddenly so nervous.

Unable to get out of the room... Unable to leave for the conference.

‘This is ridiculous,’ he said aloud. He made a determined effort. He was sane and rational, he told himself. One did not entertain or tolerate fantasies. Yet the ideas which kept flooding into his mind... breaking into his thoughts – taking over his thinking in fact – were fantasies. And he would not permit it. He had been working too hard lately. Too long. He was exhausted. That was it. That was the cause of these extraordinary impulses that burst through, rather like pulses of electrical currents. He could handle it. He would leave now and go to the conference...

But the ticking of the machine against the wall seemed to grow louder. The lights leapt, and blazed more vividly. He was being mesmerised, he decided. It was some sort of trance. An hallucination. He was Professor Brett... He was the inventor... The creator... He was the Master... in charge... No man becomes the servant of his own creation. He was fighting hard to hold onto his sanity. To retain dignity, strength. To retain his own integrity...

But he knew it was a losing battle. And one small part of his brain was strangely proud that he had made such a powerful instrument he himself could not stand up to it. What a triumph! Even though he should suffer or be destroyed–and by his own invention! What a triumph!

He tried to open the door and get out, but it was useless. He couldn’t move. He could not escape. Finally he was forced to turn and stare at the machine, to move towards it... as though programmed himself, unable to break the pattern.

He was in a trance as he stood before Wotan. ‘What do you want of me?’ he asked.

Gradually Dodo realised that she was not enjoying herself. She couldn’t think why, for she had been dancing, and chatting to the others. She was at the table when Polly and Ben came off the floor.

‘Things look a little brighter now, do they, sailor?’ laughed Kitty.

‘Who wants to go to the West Indies anyhow!’ agreed Ben.

Kitty shook her head at Polly. ‘I don’t know how you do it,’ she said.

‘Just a knack, love,’ grinned Polly.

‘You can have a job here any time,’ Kitty told her. ‘I like the one I’ve got,’ said Polly.

Dodo listened to the cheerful talk around her, but it didn’t seem real. What should have been a party was being spoilt by something she couldn’t put her finger on.

‘You all right, love?’ Polly was quick to notice the other girl’s silence.

‘I’ve got a headache,’ said Dodo.

‘It’s this noise,’ agreed Ben. ‘That disco beat could bust your eardrums.’

‘It’s a sort of humming noise,’ explained Dodo. ‘It’s been coming and going since I was in your office... There! It’s stopped again, I’ll be all right.’ She smiled. ‘Great,’ said Ben. ‘Okay, Polly. On your feet.’

‘Here we go again,’ sighed Polly as she let Ben lead her back amongst the dancers.

Dodo waited until they were lost in the crowd, then she put her fingers to her ears. The noise of humming, like the sound of a dynamo, blotted out everything. She couldn’t understand how no one else heard it. It was so real, so insistent... She was hardly able to think. The room, the music, the dancers – everything receded. The noise and laughter seemed to die away. She wondered whether the lights were really growing dimmer...

She had to get away from this place...

She wondered what was happening to her.

Sir Charles had decided to close the conference. ‘Sorry, gentlemen. I’m afraid Professor Brett isn’t going to make it. Something important must have turned up. We’ll issue a statement..