Doctor Who: The Ark (5 page)

He studied the place in which he, Steven and Dodo had been incarcerated.

A medium-sized room with plain walls and simple benches. Sprucely clean, as was everything else on the Ark... but this was their jail.

Dodo sniffed, feeling sorry for herself. ‘If I had known it was going to be like this I wouldn’t have come.’ She wiped her nose. ‘And as for them catching cold... well, it’s all my fault.’

‘Well, you did come, child, so it’s too late to worry about that! Stop snivelling!’

‘I’m not snivelling. It’s me nose running again.’ Then she took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, I’m starting to feel a little better now... not that I suppose anyone cares!’

‘But of course they care! They may be cautious...

uncertain... frightened... but if there is one thing I’ve learnt about them already, they care!’

‘What makes you so sure?’

‘Because they care about everything that happens on this spaceship. After all the trouble they’ve gone to, planning it and building it and gambling all their hopes of survival on it, they care about everything that happens to it.’ He glanced at Steven, who was prowling about the room, running his fingers over the walls and around the door jambs. ‘No use trying to escape from this place, I’m afraid. The way they’ve constructed it there would be no margin for physical escape of that kind.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Steven agreed. Resignedly he sat down on one of the benches. ‘But when you mention
physical
escape... might there not be another way out for us, Doctor?’

‘None that I can think of at this moment. I’m sure the Commander and that chap Zentos and the rest of them have ensured all avenues of metaphysical security.’

Dodo looked at Steven. ‘Were you thinking that the Doctor might get us out of here like... in a puff of smoke?’

‘I’ve heard of people who specialised in escaping from some very tight spots. They were so good they made a living at it.’

‘Ah, music hall artistes for the most part,’ the Doctor reminded him. ‘But that was illusion disguised as reality.

Whereas reality for one of them... a chap named Houdini...

met him once, on my travels... quite a nice fellow... reality for him was death, when one of his tricks went wrong. He was chained, immersed upside down in water, and was supposed to free himself and get out. But, unfortunately, he failed... and was drowned!’

Dodo shivered. ‘Then let’s don’t try anything like that.’

She sighed. ‘But that lot out there – the people and the Monoids – will they blame me if my cold spreads?’

‘Now you must not worry, my dear,’ the Doctor tried to reassure her. ‘It’s not your fault at all. If it’s anybody’s, it’s mine!’

‘But do you think this has happened before?’ Steven asked. ‘That an infection was carried from one age to another... or even one planet to another?’

‘Don’t waste your time with conjecture!’ the Doctor retorted. ‘Though I must say the thought of it and what it might eventually mean is too horrifying!... Scientists in the past have tried to work out the consequences of such an eventuality. But we are
experiencing
it, here and now.’

‘Maybe it’ll just go away,’ Dodo ventured.

‘That depends: number one, on the strength of the virus; number two, on whether they have any latent immunity despite the... er... Segments of Time since their forebears last suffered it.’

‘If it’s half as bad as my cold was it will knock ’em for six,’ Dodo sniffed.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, do use your handkerchief, child,’

the Doctor snapped, irritably. ‘H’m! If you had used it more often when we were in the jungle then perhaps this wouldn’t have happened.’

Dodo pulled a face. ‘I knew you’d blame me, no matter what you said originally.’ She sniffed again and this time wiped her nose with her handkerchief. ‘And anyway, it’s not me nose that’s running any more. I’m crying this time.’

The Doctor relaxed, altering his tone. ‘Then you had better rest, Dorothea...’

‘Dodo!’

‘... whatever. Rest and regain your strength because you’re far from cured!’ He turned away from her and paced restlessly. ‘Oh, if only those wretched Guardians would let us out of here, we might be able to help them, h’m?’

He stared in frustration at the walls that imprisoned them.

A procession wound its way through the Great Hall.

At its centre was the conveyor on which rested the body of the dead Monoid, encased in•a simple shroud.

The accompanying Guardians and Monoids moved along without open expressions of emotion of any kind.

Bystanders lined their route and on the galleries above them more spectators were gathered. Nowhere was there an open display of grief, for this would have been alien to them. But a quietly contained concern could be felt.

The conveyor and its cargo glided out of the Great Hall into the Launching Area..

Here were bays that contained space launchers of varying sizes. Among them, a single occupancy size.

The body of the Monoid was lifted into it and the launcher eased into an expulsion cavity.

A Guardian made sure that loading was correct, then reached for the firing button. He hesitated. Instead, he offered the task to a Monoid who had accompanied him.

The Monoid indicated his thanks for the honour by an inclination of his head. Then he stepped forward and pressed the button.

There was a loud hiss. They all looked up at a nearby screen monitor and saw the launcher and its dead cargo being ejected, speeding away from the Ark and disappearing into the void of space.

The task done, they turned and made their way back to the Great Hall.

In the Great Hall a Guardian suddenly choked and collapsed, falling to the floor. A Monoid went over to assist him... but in turn was suddenly convulsed by an attack and fell alongside the Guardian.

The others watched, bewildered, uncertain what to do.

The event itself, and the reaction to it, were caught by a Seeing Eye.

In the Control Room, Zentos and Manyak had seen the events in the Great Hall relayed onto a monitor screen.

‘Two more who have fallen victims of the plague!’

Zentos observed, a note of anger edging into his voice.

‘The spread of the virus is not showing any signs of abating.’ Worriedly, he asked, ‘How many victims does that make so far?’

‘Twenty-three!’ Manyak informed him.

‘And all within a few hours!’ He glanced at another monitor screen. ‘Look!’

The screen relayed the scene near the parked TARDIS.

Another Monoid could be seen, suddenly gasping and vainly struggling to breathe. Then it, like the others in the Great Hall, staggered and collapsed.

‘Another victim! Twenty-four!’ He studied the picture intently. ‘He isn’t moving. It looks as though that’s another Monoid death. Thank heavens no Guardians have died so far.’

‘What will happen if any do?’ Manyak asked.

‘It would be disaster!’ Zentos replied. ‘Each individual has his allotted task! No-one has foreseen anything like this eventuality.’

‘There must be something that we can do.’

‘Our microbiologists are trying to find the answer. One of them, Rhos, is with the Commander now in a special isolation unit that he has organised.’

The isolation unit was like the jail in which the Doctor and his companions were imprisoned. It was bare of furnishings, its walls scrubbed and polished clean.

Rhos, the microbiologist, was attending to the Commander, who was lying back on a plain slab. Mellium was hovering at his side and a Monoid was mopping his brow. All three wore protective helmets.

The Commander was moaning and breathing in quick, shallow gasps. He was sweating and shivering, the whole of his body quivering under the onslaught of the virus.

Rhos checked the Commander’s temperature, then motioned to Mellium to follow him as he retreated to the far side of the isolation unit.

‘Is there nothing you can do?’ Mellium asked anxiously.

Rhos shook his head: ‘Unfortunately the art of conquering this type of fever was lost long ago. As far as I can recall from my readings, that happened in the Primal Wars of the Tenth Segment.’

The Commander stirred and made an attempt to pull himself together and control the shaking in his limbs.

‘Mellium...’ he whispered.

She turned to face him. ‘Yes, Father?’

‘... I seem to be drifting from moments of unconsciousness to moments of sudden clarity. It... it is a very strange... and exhausting... experience.’

‘Father, perhaps you shouldn’t talk!’

‘I must... I must try.’ He took a deep, steadying breath. ‘Promise me that... that no matter what happens to me...’

‘What?’

‘Anything... to me... or any of the others... that you will make sure that the voyage continues...’

‘Of course,’ Mellium replied. ‘But something will happen that will make everything all right for you... for all of us!’

‘What happens to me is not important. It is the voyage...

the mission... that counts. That’s all!’ He paused, struggling for breath, then continued. ‘Its completion... the end of the long journey that we have started... and the landing of our descendants on the planet Refusis. That is the only thing that is important!’

Mellium nodded. ‘Yes, father. We know!’

The Commander eased back on the slab, his eyes closing. Rhos hurried over to examine him, Mellium at his elbow.

‘He is resting,’ Rhos said. ‘Probably the best thing for him, giving us time... time to think... and try to remember.’

Mellium nodded, then turned to watch the Monoid who was, so gently, helping to nurse her father. She smiled her thanks to him, but he hardly noticed as he continued attending to the Commander.

In the Control Room, Zentos addressed the Guardians and Monoids, commanding their attention: ‘Listen to me, all of you!’

They crowded around him and he continued.

‘Guardians... Monoids! Before it is too late we must make the intruders answer for the terrible crime that they have committed!’

There was a general chorus of assent.

Zentos continued: ‘A hearing will commence at once!

As Deputy Commander I will put the charges... but in keeping with Galactic Law, will anyone speak for the prisoners?’

They glanced at one another uncertainly. Then Manyak stepped forward. ‘Yes. I will!’

Mellium, re-entering the Control Room, immediately added her support.

‘And so will I! My father would wish that. His only desire would be that justice should be done and a sensible solution to this crisis be found!’

From the moment Zentos stepped forward with his proclamation, all events within the Control Room were relayed through the communications system to all points of the Ark – echoing in the Great Hall, at various listening posts in the jungle, in the isolation unit where the Commander nodded his head in agreement with his daughter’s statement, and in the jail where the Doctor, Dodo and Steven were confined.

They looked up, startled, on hearing the relayed voices, then listened intently to Zentos’s opening statement.

‘In order that Earth life shall be extended and perpetuated through the success of this spaceship’s mission, the Guardians shall have total powers to punish or restrain any life forms that threaten its possible success, by expulsion from this ship, miniaturisation, or such lesser penalty as shall be deemed fit!’

The Doctor grasped his lapels thoughtfully on hearing these opening remarks. ‘Ah! So that’s it! Some sort of trial!’

‘And we are the accused,’ Steven realised.

‘I knew no good was going to happen today,’ Dodo moaned. ‘As I recall it’s Friday the thirteenth!’

‘Maybe it was,’ the Doctor retorted. ‘But we are in a different Segment, so perhaps that doesn’t apply.’ Then he looked up as he realised that he was being directly addressed by Mellium via the communications system.

‘Doctor, Manyak and I believe your story. We’ve offered to speak in your defence, but at least one of you must give evidence.’

‘Why, yes – of course!’ the Doctor answered, realising that the relay system was two-way.

Steven stumbled to his feet. ‘I must go!’

‘What?’

‘I must do something... anything to get out of this room.

It... it’s stilling in here.’ Steven moved toward the door.

‘And I might be able to show them how stupid they are, wasting their time making charges and speeches like the one that Guardian just made.’

‘But, my dear boy, advocacy is a special art...’

‘Telling the truth isn’t! And if I can persuade them, I might help get you started on finding a cure.’

‘Very well, then,’ the Doctor agreed. ‘If only they will listen.’

‘They will probably want you to speak afterwards, Doctor,’ Dodo ventured.

‘My dear, I only want to help.’ He addressed the relay system. ‘Guardians, one of our number – young Steven – is prepared to enter your court. All he asks is a fair and open-minded hearing.’

The reply came back immediately.

‘Very well, then,’ Zentos said. ‘Let him come forward.’

The door of the jail-room slid open and Steven moved through it and into...

... the Control Room, where he was immediately ushered into a cage that was obviously designed to serve as a dock for the accused.

Steven gazed round at the assembled Guardians and Monoids in the Control Room. They seemed to crowd around him and press in on him, hostile and accusing. He wasn’t sure whether it was fear or something else... but sweat gathered on his brow and the words that were addressed to him sounded hollow and echoing.

It was Zentos who spoke. ‘My contention is that it was no accident that you came here, as you and your companions previously stated. It is my belief that you came here intentionally to spread the disease.’

‘Nonsense!’ Steven retorted.

‘And by so doing, cause this disaster!’

‘But that... that is utter nonsense.’

Zentos pointed at Steven challengingly.

‘It is my belief that you are agents of the planet toward which we are proceeding. And that you were sent by the Refusians to destroy us.’

‘Why? We’re human beings, like you. Why should we?’