Doctor Who: Ribos Operation (4 page)

After a few moments the door burst open and the Doctor
stepped out. He glanced around and then took several deep
breaths. ‘Very fresh,’ he murmured appreciatively. ‘Faint smell
of burning—but very refreshing.’

‘It’s freezing,’ gasped Romanadvoratrelundar, hesitating in
the doorway as she clasped her delicate white robe closer to her.

‘We have obviously arrived in wintertime,’ the Doctor
exclaimed. ‘Ribos orbits its sun elliptically, so the climate is one
of extremes.’

Eagerly the Doctor scanned the low snow-covered ridge and
the massive icicle-clustered walls of the city. ‘Well, which way?’
he demanded. His shivering companion fumbled with the
bleeping Locatormutor Core. ‘Do come along,’ he cried
impatiently.

‘We most be quite close, Doctor,’ she answered through
chattering teeth. ‘It’s a strong signal.

‘Which way then?’ the Doctor repeated, setting off at a
cracking pace across the slippery steppe towards the ridge.

‘That way,’ she called, pointing to the gateway in the city wall
in the opposite direction. Abruptly the Doctor wheeled round
and advanced rapidly towards the arch.

‘Now I’m not expecting any trouble here,’ he cried over his
shoulder, ‘but there are certain ground rules to be observed at
all times...’

His unfortunate companion set off in pursuit, slithering and
sliding all over the uneven surface, her thin robes flapping
flimsily in the freezing wind.

‘One: stay close to me. Two: do exactly as I tell you. Three:
let me do all the talking...’ the Doctor continued, disappearing
under the archway. ‘Oh, and by the way,’ he said stopping and
turning, ‘your name. Too long. Sounds like a Siamese railway
station. I’ll call you Romana’

Just then his struggling assistant caught up with him. ‘I
don’t like Romana,’ she objected, panting for breath.

The Doctor shrugged. ‘It’s either that or Fred,’ he said.

‘I prefer Fred,’ she said after a brief pause.

‘Good. Come on, Romana,’ the Doctor cried, setting off once
again. ‘Four...’ he went on, darting down a narrow side turning
between high walls, ‘always keep alert and watch out for the
unexpectaaaaaaagh...’

The Doctor’s cheerfully booming voice had turned abruptly
into a strangled cry of shock and dismay which was swallowed up
in the darkness ahead. Romana slowly advanced into the
alleyway holding the bleeping Core out in front of her like a two-handed sword. In the gently pulsing glow of the Locatormutor,
she saw the Doctor swinging helplessly in mid-air. He was
completely enmeshed in a large net which was drawn tightly
shut at the top and suspended from a rough wooden beam slung
between the walls. He was upside down and doubted in two with
his head jammed between his knees.

Romana suppressed a sudden urge, to giggle. ‘A primitive
device to stop animals from straying into the city at night,’ she
suggested, keeping her face as straight as she could. ‘There
appears to be some kind of trigger mechanism set into the...’

‘Well done,’ the Doctor managed to mutter, ‘I wondered if
you’d spot that...’ His face was almost purple. His long
multicoloured scarf had become caught up in the crude rigging
of the trap and had pulled tight around his throat. He glared at
Romana, making incoherent and strangled sounds in
frustration.

Finally the Doctor worked one hand free and was able to
loosen the scarf a little. ‘Now, my dear,’ he whispered hoarsely in
a supreme effort to keep calm, ‘do you think you could turn
your attention to getting me out of this thing...?’

Having ushered the Graff Vynda Ka and his faithful
commander, Sholakh, into their quarters in the Citadel, Garron
set to work in an attempt to blow some life into the flickering
logs piled in the iron grate.

‘Unfortunately, Highness, you are not seeing the planet at
its best just now,’ he fawned, clumsily pumping a crude bellow’s
and producing clouds of smoke in the windowless room.
‘However, for someone in your exalted position Ribos would
make an ideal second home during Sun Time.’

The Graff Vynda Ka shivered and stared disdainfully round
the chamber, waving the smoke out of his face with white, well-manicured hands. ‘Sun Time!’ he snorted, ‘once every eleven
years... If I do purchase the planet it will not be my intention to
spend much time here.’

‘But there are so few unspoiled properties coming onto the
market at the moment, Highness,’ Garron said affectedly,
brushing his watering eyes with his sleeve. ‘Shurr is the only city
of any size; there are a few scattered settlements towards the
Upper Pole—otherwise nothing.’

Sholakh had been marching about the fur-strewn flagstone
floor, rubbing his numbed hands. ‘The property grows less
attractive every minute, Highness,’ he muttered.

The Graff nodded and came over to warm himself at the
modest blaze which Garron had succeeded in coaxing from the
damp wood. He stared into the fire thoughtfully, the flames
reflecting on his taut pale-skinned features.

‘The inhabitants...’ he suddenly demanded, ‘... are they
aware of the existence of the Greater Cyrrhenic Empire? Do
they know that their planet is protected by the Imperial
Alliance?’

Garron hauled himself quickly to his feet, shaking his head
firmly. ‘They are brutish primitives, Highness,’ he scoffed, ‘they
know nothing of other worlds... nothing at all.’ He detected a
flicker of renewed interest in the young Prince’s pale blue eyes.
‘Ribos is extremely well-positioned in the Galaxy—strategically
speaking,’ he murmured, leaning forward confidentially so that
his face almost touched the Graffs.

The Prince’s nostrils flared with undisguised contempt. ‘You
are keen to make a sale, Garron,’ he said with a chilling smile.

Garron opened his pouch and took out a sheaf of papers.
‘And you are keen to make a purchase, Highness,’ he beamed.
‘Otherwise you would not be here.’

‘Not for the ten million opeks you are asking,’ the Graff
cried, turning brusquely away.

Garron shrugged. ‘The Magellanic Mining Corporation set
that valuation,’ he replied. ‘I am merely the agent...’

The Graff Vynda Ka pondered a moment. Then he swung
round and fixed Garron with a brooding stare. ‘You are
empowered to accept an offer?’ he suddenly snapred.

Garron hastily lowered his eyes from the inside of the hollow
shaft above the fire, where he had been gazing while the Graff
had his back to him. ‘A reasonable offer... Yes, Highness,’ he
replied with a reassuring smile.

‘What is wrong? What are you staring at?’ Sholakh
demanded suspiciously, going over to the fire. Garron recovered
himself instantly. He waved the sheaf of documents vigorously
about in the air. ‘I...I was just looking to see if the chimney was
obstructed,’ he said soothingly. ‘I do apologise for this smoke,
Highness. I trust you will be comfortable here.’

Selecting several papers from the bundle, Garron led the
way to the massive wooden table and spread them out with an
impressive flourish. As he did so, one sheet slipped from his
grasp and fluttered unnoticed to the floor.

‘The documents of Title and Mortmain await your
consideration, Highness,’ Garron beamed, gesturing to the
parchments as he bowed himself towards the door. ‘Tomorrow it
will be my pleasure to conduct you on a tour of the city: until
then, may you rest in comfort, gentlemen.’

Leaving the Graff’s quarters, Garron hurried a short
distance through the maze of deserted stone passages which
honeycombed the Citadel of Shurr, until he came to a deeply
recessed doorway. Glancing quickly about to make sure that he
was not being watched, he settled himself down in the shadows
and huddled tightly into his furs. Then. with a devious grin, he
put his wrist up to his ear and carefully adjusted the tiny
switches on the communicator device strapped to it...

‘I think that he will accept six million opeks.’ murmuted the
Graff Vynda Ka after rapidly scanning the documents Garron
had placed on the table for his approval.

Sholakh had been staring at the paper which he had just
picked up from under a chair. ‘Look at this, Highness,’ he
breathed, ‘the Conglomerate’s Mineralogical Survey Report on
Ribos—Garron must have dropped it by accident.’

The Graff glanced briefly at the document. Then he
grabbed it from Sholakh and started to read it eagerly, a deep
furrow appearing in the centre of his waxen forehead. After
several minutes he looked up sharply. ‘It is not possible...’ he
cried. ‘It must be a mistake.’ Sholakh looked inquiringly at his
master, amazed by the sudden outburst.

‘Point zero zero zero zero one per cent of planetary mass,
Sholakh!’ the Graff almost screamed, his eyes ablaze and his pale
cheeks twitching. His trembling hands almost crumpled the
paper as he held it up to re-read its incredible contents.

Sholakh stared at his master’s face while he skimmed
through the document a second time.’ What is it, Highness?’ he
murmured as the Graff slowly laid down the paper and rose to
his feet.

‘Jethryk!’ the young Prince breathed hoarsely. ‘Jethryk: the
most valuable... the most powerful element in the Galaxy.’

Sholakh frowned. ‘As you say, a mistake, Highness,’ he
shrugged. ‘Otherwise the Conglomerate would not be selling...’

‘Wait.’ the Graff cried, seizing the documents from the table
and feverishly shuffling through them. ‘There was a condition...
Here... “While relinquishing freehold in the planet Ribos... in
the constellation Skythra... Magellanic Mining retains to itself
sole right of exploitation in all mineral deposits... in
perpetuity"... There is no mistake. Sholakh.’ he cried his shrill
voice tinged with hysteria. He began to stride agitatedly round
and round the chamber, the firelight throwing his stalking
shadow over the walls, and his voice rising gradually to fever
pitch: ‘Sholakh... this is far beyond our wildest dreams... Jethryk
would guarantee success quicker than ever seemed possible...’

Garron hugged himself with delight as he listened with
mounting satisfaction to the Graff’s excited voice crackling from
the miniature radio on his wrist. ‘Garron, old lad, you’re a
genius,’ he chuckled, his plump features swollen in a huge grin.
‘And just so long as that lily-livered butcher’s boy, Unstoffe,
doesn’t do anything daft, we’ll be...’

‘Oh dear. Has it stopped?’ enquired a polite voice beside
him.

Garron whipped round. The Doctor and Romana were
standing in the passage, opposite the doorway where he was
huddled. He stared at the two strangers for several seconds,
completely at a loss. Then he recovered himself and screwed up
his face in a bizarre smile. ‘Oh na, thenk yer koyndly,’ he
growled. He glanced at the device strapped to his wrist. ‘Faw a
clock an awl’s wewl myte...’ and with an exaggerated yawn he
settled back into his voluminous furs and started to snore.

‘Fascinating,’ the Doctor whispered, frowning at the dozing
figure slumped in the doorway.

‘Obviously a ritual native greeting,’ Romana murmured with
a shrug. She was preoccupied with tuning the increasingly
strong signal being emitted by the Locatormutor Core.

‘In a bad Bermondsey accent?’ the Doctor muttered
doubtfully, shaking his head and moving off along the winding
passage.

‘Bermondsey?’ Romana echoed blankly, catching up with
him.

‘Delightful suburb of London... Earth,’ the Doctor replied.

‘Earth?’ Romana exclaimed. ‘There cannot be any Earth
aliens here on Ribos, Doctor.’ Checking the signal again, she
pointed the way through a wide arch decorated with crude
carvings.

‘Perhaps he’s a cricket scout,’ the Doctor grinned,
disappearing down a steep flight of broad stone steps, worn
away as if by the feet of generations of pilgrims. ‘They
desperately need a good opening bat just now...’

‘What do you mean?’ Romana demanded, following the
Doctor down into the semi-darkness.

‘Do keep up,’ the Doctor called over his shoulder.
‘Remember Rule One...’

At the bottom of the long flight of dark, winding steps the
Doctor and Romana found themselves in an arched lobby with
passages leading off in all directions. Facing them was a pair of
massive wooden doors secured by a stout iron bar locked into
place. In the alcove beside the doors an enormous Shrieve
Guard was sound asleep huddled in his uniform of mouldy furs
and plaited leather, his pike leaning against the wall next to him.

‘In there, Doctor,’ Romana said, nodding towards the doors.
‘The signal is almost at optimum focus.’ The Doctor frowned at
her and put his finger to his lips. Quickly, he examined the locks
securing the iron bar. ‘Did the Academy teach you anything
about locks?’ he whispered.

Romana shook her head. ‘There was no time for such
elementary activities,’ she retorted.

‘Then how are we going to get in?’ the Doctor asked with a
worried look.

‘That is not my problem. I am only here as your assistant.’
Rnmana replied smugly.

‘In that case you take care of the sentry while I sort out this
little difficulty,’ the Doctor grinned, taking out an enormous pair
of tweezers and setting to work. After a few minutes there was a
soft click, and the Doctor swung the bar through ninety degrees
and pushed one of the doors carefully open.

‘After you, my dear,’ he whispered.

As they entered the dimly-lit Relic Chamber the Doctor
gently pushed the massive door to behind him. Neither he nor
Romana noticed the quiet whining and clicking as the iron bar
slowly swung back into place, locking the doors from the outside.

Holding the Core out in front of her, Romana approached
the Relic Cabinet. The Core was now emitting a continuous
signal and glowing steadily.

‘The Segment must be something in here, Doctor; she said.

‘Well of course it must,’ the Doctor muttered, joining her.
He scanned the contents of the display-case closely. ‘We’ll be
very unpopular if we get caught tampering with the Crown
Jewels—so we’d better identify the Segment, convert it and
depart before the natives wake up.’ He thrust out a large hand:
‘Hammer!’