Doctor Who: Galaxy Four (4 page)

‘Possibly not,’ the Doctor said crisply. ‘But I can give you odds of nine to four. Why d’you think they kept Vicki back: concern for her health?’

‘It’s the logical thing to do. How were they to know we wouldn’t come back to the TARDIS and simply take off?’

‘That is something we’d be well advised to do. And quickly, at that.’

‘We’ve got fourteen dawns.’

The Doctor looked at him quizzically. ‘No, we haven’t. We’ve got two. Tomorrow is the last day this planet will see.’

2 Trap of Steel

The suns spun leisurely through space above the planet. Thus it always had been and thus it would stay, an observer would have thought. But when the planet went they too would go. First would come a throbbing pulsation through the emptiness as the planet began to expand outward, its surface beginning to split asunder and lava to spit and pour outward. Then an unholy white light would dance this way and that across the surface and the last moment would come. The planet and its suns would go nova, a brief spot of light in eternal space and of no consequence in time. From then on they would be of no consequence in space either, mere boulders rolling their way through eternity.

The Doctor knew this as he watched the shock on Steven’s face. He felt some sympathy for the lad. After all, strictly speaking this was not his field. He had been wrenched into it by unforeseeable circumstances and had borne up gamely whereas he, the Doctor, had learnt to adapt since time immemorial. Human life wasn’t long enough, he thought, no sooner given than taken away, with insufficient time to learn what was necessary or do what had to be done. He dismissed the thought. There was nothing he could do about it. He wasn’t God, simply something of a clown in his own eyes, trolling about through time and space seeking the final truth as he inhabited one body after another, and yet with the dull feeling that that final truth would remain forever beyond his reach.

This wouldn’t do. ‘We have to worry about Vicki,’ he said quietly.

Steven shook off his numbness. ‘That we must. And right away, at that.’

Fishing in his pocket for the key, the Doctor headed for the door. But Steven stopped him. ‘Hang on, Doctor. Let’s check first.’

He made for the scanner to view outside and straightaway saw a Chumbley heading toward them. ‘Take a look at this,’ he said.

The Doctor came up beside him to see what the scanner revealed. He saw the robot coming in across the black landscape, but was more interested in what it was carrying, a phial-shaped object about seventeen inches long and eight inches wide.

‘What is it?’ Steven wondered.

‘I don’t know.’ The Doctor squinted at the picture. ‘Whatever it is, I’d guess it isn’t intended to improve the quality of our lives.’

‘It’s wasting our time.’

‘We don’t have any alternative but to stay, do we?’ ‘I suppose not.’

‘Then try to be patient.’

The Chumbley moved right in until it bumped into the TARDIS. It paused a moment, chuttering to itself, then leaned the phial against the door, released it and moved back a little. Again a brief pause and it turned about and moved off. Now the Doctor and Steven could see that it was trailing a wire from each of its two claws. This did not look in the least bit promising.

‘What was that?’ Steven asked.

The Doctor was pensive. ‘I wish I knew. They haven’t actually harmed us yet, but it’s possible they’re losing patience.’

‘I don’t like the look of those wires.’

‘Nor do I. We’ll have to try something.’ He flicked on the outside speakers of the TARDIS and spoke into the microphone. ‘You out there. Can you hear me?’

The Chumbley remained still.

‘We come in peace. We come as friends. Please answer if you can hear me.’

Nothing happened. The utter stillness of the machine was unnerving, particularly since it still grasped the two wires which had to serve some purpose, not necessarily one in their favour.

‘It can hear us all right,’ the Doctor muttered. ‘So why no answer? They contacted the Drahvins without any trouble.’

‘Maybe they didn’t like the way the Drahvins responded. After all, they–’

He was cut off by a tremendous explosion, the sound of which ripped through the TARDIS and tore at their eardrums. They were thrown aside as a sheet of white light enveloped the time machine and seemed almost to pick it up and shake it, like some giant playing dice with anything to hand. There was the sound of shattering glass. Books and papers flew across the control room. Gauges danced to a tune other than their own. Then there was a final shudder and the TARDIS settled back again.

Steven levered himself up from the floor and saw the Doctor lying flat on his back. ‘Are you all right, Doctor?’

‘Oh, yes,’ came the reply. ‘I just love games like this.’

‘What was it?’

The Doctor slowly sat up and rubbed the base of his spine. ‘Some sort of bomb.’ He groaned a little to give vent to his feelings. ‘But they needn’t have bothered to try. The TARDIS can take more than that.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘As sure as I can be.’ He grasped the edge of the control panel and pulled himself to his feet. ‘When I design a shield I don’t fiddle about with half measures.’ He cocked his head as there came a familiar bumping and knocking through the walls. ‘The little devil’s come to see what the score is.’

‘I wish I knew.’

‘Don’t worry. We’re still ahead. The thing’s doomed to disappointment.’ As the bumping ceased he looked into the scanner, to see the Chumbley rolling away into the distance. ‘Away he goes, empty-handed.’

Steven rubbed his head where it had banged on the floor in the fall. ‘Given up, I suppose.’

‘Or to come back with a different variety of trouble. We’ll try not to be here when it arrives, shall we?’ He operated the controls and the doors moaned open. ‘Come along. There isn’t much time left.’

Steven followed. ‘Two dawns, to be precise, which isn’t enough.’

Maaga had joined Vicki at the table. Before her was a plate of greenery which she was eating, with no evidence of enjoyment. ‘You’re sure you won’t join me?’ she asked.

Vicki looked in distaste at the food. ‘No, thanks. It looks like leaves to me.’

‘It is leaves. This particular form is high in protein, without which no life form can survive. How do you propose to do so?’

‘Not by eating that rubbish. Anyway, your soldiers gave me some tablet food.’

Maaga was shocked. ‘You ate the same food as they do?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because they are slaves. And their food is suited to their status. It’s inferior, enough to keep them alive and active but not to give pleasure. Our society is quite firm about what reward is given to which functionary. They are soldiers, no more, no less. I would be grateful if you would treat them as such and not give them ideas above their station.’

Vicki knew she had found a weak spot. ‘You mean they’re capable of having ideas? I thought you had them all bundled up, neat, tidy and mindless.’

Maaga stared at her coldly, then returned to her leaves. Vicki stood up and moved restlessly across the compartment. She was worried about the Doctor and Steven. They’d been gone for a long time. She prayed that they had come to no harm, but knew the Doctor had this unique ability to find trouble where others would notice nothing and pass on their way unharmed. Sometimes she wondered if he deliberately sought it out, or if he was some sort of magnet which unwittingly drew it to himself.

‘Don’t worry about your friends,’ Maaga said. ‘They’ll be back.’

Vicki did not share her certainty. ‘If the Chumblies haven’t caught up with them. That’s possible, isn’t it?’

‘I doubt if it would happen,’ Maaga said calmly. ‘They wouldn’t let it. They’d be too worried about you.’

‘Which is precisely why you kept me here.’

Maaga did not bother to turn her head. ‘You seem not to trust anyone. I have told you: you are here for your own safety.’

‘Yes,’ Vicki snapped. ‘All hostages are safe, aren’t they?’

Maaga shrugged indifferently. ‘If your friends are not back soon we shall go and look for them. After all, we need your help against the Rills.’

‘Whether we want to give it or not.’

Now Maaga did turn and her smile reached no further in than her lips. ‘I am sure you all want to help us.

The Doctor and Steven made their way in the direction of the Drahvin spaceship, the Doctor straying aside from time to time to pick the odd plant and stuff it into his pocket for later reference. Considering the circumstances, Steven found this irritating. They were on the brink of a nova and Vicki was in the clutches of the Drahvins, yet still he found time to potter. It made little sense to him. Perhaps one day he would grow used to the Doctor’s ways, but he doubted it. Here was a man who was always insisting that people get their priorities right, but where were his?

‘Come on, Doctor.’

‘I’m with you, I’m with you.’

‘This is no time for gardening.’

‘Research, my boy, that’s what this is.’

‘With Vicki in trouble?’

‘Ah, yes.’

The Doctor caught up with Steven and side by side they hastened to Vicki’s rescue, until there was a loud splintering sound and the soil sagged beneath them. Then it gave way completely and they fell, clods, gravel and splintered wood going down with them. The Doctor landed on his side and his elbow shrieked agony. Steven, more fortunate, came down on his feet, only to sit abruptly as his legs gave way. Both were taken completely by surprise. It was some time before they could work out what had happened, the Doctor doing so by remaining where he was, clasping his elbow and peering dubiously about him.

The Chumblies had been busy. The Doctor and Steven were in a neatly-cut pit-trap some four metres square and a little short of four metres high. The three suns stared down at them in their bed of rubble and for a while they stared back in hopelessness. It occurred to the Doctor that they were being outsmarted on all fronts. He blamed himself. He was in charge and therefore the responsibility was his. Why did he always allow himself to be distracted by minutiae? He should have been alert and concentrating for exactly such an eventuality as this, instead of which he had allowed himself to be diverted by the flora of this planet. Well, it was time he did something. He rose slowly and painfully to his feet.

‘What shall we do now?’ he said.

Steven, also now on his feet, put his hands on his hips and studied their plight. ‘Easily asked, Doctor, but not so easily answered. We stepped right into this, didn’t we?’

‘That we did.’

Steven gave a wry smile. ‘The only way to get out of this is with one mighty bound. D’you think you could do that for me?’

‘Alas, my boy, even I have my limitations.’ ‘Pity.’

Steven went to one side of the pit and examined it. He dug his hand in and pulled some of the soil away. Apart from its colour it was very much like that of Earth, a little heavier perhaps and rather more like clay, but definitely diggable. The only trouble was that they had no tools and he could not see them digging their way out with their hands. That was definitely out. He stood back and eyed the top. Then he turned and looked judgingly at the Doctor.

‘I can’t climb up that,’ the Doctor said immediately, concerned momentarily for his own welfare.

‘I didn’t think you could,’ Steven said. ‘How tall are you, Doctor?’

‘Oh, five feet nine or ten. I’ve never measured this body. It’s enough that I inhabit it.’

‘And I’m about six feet.’ He eyed the top of the pit again. ‘I’ve an idea the Chumblies carved this pit to their own limitations.’

The Doctor shook his head. ‘I’m not quite with you.’

‘Well, if you were to stand one of them on top of the other they’d still be well below the edge, wouldn’t they?’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘But, of course, one couldn’t stand on the other because they’ve got neither feet nor legs. Whereas we have.’

Understanding dawned in the Doctor’s eyes. He snapped his fingers. ‘You have it. They didn’t allow for either our height or our agility. What would trap them wouldn’t necessarily do the same for us.’

‘I’m glad you understand.’ Steven’s patience was wearing thin. Somewhere in the distance he could hear the familiar chittering sound of the robots. It lent some urgency to his attitude. ‘Right. I’ll crouch down here against the side and you get up so that you can climb onto my shoulders.’

He did so and the Doctor scrambled awkwardly up to his position, leaning his hands against the soil in readiness.

‘Now,’ Steven said and slowly raised himself until he was upright, surprised at the Doctor’s lack of weight, even though familiar with the slightness of his appearance. For his part the Doctor felt uneasy. There was an insecurity about his feet on Steven’s shoulders, despite the fact that his ankles were being firmly gripped by the young man. He never had seen himself as part of a circus act and this experience was drawing him no nearer to it. But he too could now hear the sound of the robot. His fingers scrabbled upward for the edge of the drop. He strained and grunted but could not quite reach. Black dirt spattered into his face, but still he struggled, blinking to clear his eyes and trying to keep his mouth closed as much as possible.

‘Any luck?’ Steven called.

‘I’m a matter of inches short of it,’ the Doctor replied.

‘Hang on, then. I’m going to let go of your right ankle, but don’t worry about it.’

He did so and the Doctor was worried. He wobbled uncertainly, but managed to remain upright. And suddenly he found himself being inched further up. One hand against the side of the pit to help take the strain, Steven raised himself onto his toes and somehow managed to stay there, the calves of his legs telling him that, light though the Doctor was, they were unhappy about this unusual position. ‘Try that,’ he grunted.

The Doctor’s fingers clawed away again–and found the edge. He gasped with relief and looked upward to see if he could possibly get a grip so that he could hoist himelf, though he doubted if this ageing body could manage such a thing. Still, the effort had to be made. What he saw above him was a Chumbley, its gun pointing in the usual direction, namely at the Doctor. But he was growing used to this and the situation was desperate. Praying that he wouldn’t fall, he too inched his feet back and raised himself onto his toes. Steven’s shirt began to slip on his shoulders and the Doctor felt his balance beginning to go. Sweat beaded his forehead. The last thing he could take was a fall from this height. In total desperation he lunged for the only thing he could get a grip on. This happened to be the metal skirting of the Chumbley. Inside it was a protruding rim and this the Doctor locked onto with both hands. And there he hung, staring upward with no little trepidation, suspended from this machine which was displaying no noticeable signs of friendliness.