Doctor Who: Terror of the Vervoids
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Authors: Pip Baker,Jane Baker
Tags: #Science-Fiction:Doctor Who
The Time Lords have brought the Doctor to trial, accusing him of gross interference in the affairs of other planets. If he is found guilty he must forfeit all his remaining regenerations.
In his defence the Doctor tells of an adventure set on board the Hyperion III space liner in his future. Answering a distress call, the Doctor and Mel arrive on the liner just as a series of grisly murders begins.
Who is behind the murders? Do the enigmatic Mogarians have anything to do with them?
Who sent the distress call to the TARDIS?
And what hideous menace lies waiting in the Hydroponic Centre?
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Science Fiction/TV Tie-in
DOCTOR WHO
THE TRIAL OF A
TIME LORD:
TERROR OF THE
VERVOIDS
Based on the BBC television series by Pip and Jane Baker by arrangement with BBC Books, a division of BBC
Enterprises Ltd
Number 125 in the
Doctor Who Library
A TARGET BOOK
published by
The Paperback Division of
W. H. Allen & Co. Plc
A Target Book
Published in 1988
by the Paperback Division of
W. H. Allen & Co. Plc
44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB
Novelisation copyright © Pip and Jane Baker, 1987
Original script copyright © Pip and Jane Baker, 1986
‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © British Broadcasting Corporation, 1986
The BBC producer of
The Vervoids
was John Nathan Turner, the director was Chris Clough
The role of the Doctor was played by Colin Baker Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Anchor Brendon Ltd, Tiptree, Essex
ISBN 0 426 20313 5
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser.
At the apex of the cosmic evolutionary scale is the ultimate refinement of creation – a society comprised of Time Lords: beings whose intellectual prowess and agility surpass that of every other creature in the Universe. This facility has enabled them to develop the ability to travel in time. Past, present and future are all available to them: an awesome power.
Fortunately they are also gifted with moderating wisdom. A cardinal rule has become a pillar of the law that governs their conduct – they shall not meddle in the affairs of other societies. The penalty for transgression is death.
An offender shall not only forfeit his or her life, but all remaining lives: for Time Lords can regenerate into a new personality when a current existence has run its course.
The Doctor is on trial.
Snatched out of time, he stands accused of this very crime. A vengeful prosecuting council, the Valeyard, has cited two cases as proof of his guilt. The Doctor has now to present evidence of his innocence.
1
A sombre hush permeated the Trial Room.
The Inquisitor in her white robes... the officiating Time Lords, veritable guardians of the Laws of Gallifrey... the black-garbed Valeyard... all watched the Doctor as he walked, leaden-footed, towards the prisoner’s rostrum.
Gone was his usual ebullience.
Missing was his mischievous smile, his quirky eccentricity, as he mounted to the dock from where he was expected to submit the evidence that would either prove his innocence or confirm his guilt.
Yet, traumatic as this prospect might be, the Doctor’s present despair was not for himself.
It was for Peri.
In the climax of the prosecutor’s case, the Court had seen the Doctor allow his young companion to go to her doom.
‘We are all aware of your feelings of sorrow, Doctor.’
The Inquisitor’s tone was gentle. ‘Has the recess given you sufficient time to overcome the stress of your bereavement?’
The shock of Peri’s death had so devastated the Doctor that he had been granted an adjournment. He lifted his uncharacteristically bowed head. ‘I doubt if there will ever be sufficient time for that, my Lady.’
Although sensitive to his grief, the Inquisitor was also aware of the prosecutor’s impatience. The Valeyard uttered an exaggerated sigh as the Doctor riffled through case notes, rubbed his brow, unable to focus despite the seriousness of the charge he faced.
The Court awaited his opening gambit.
None came.
Anxious to move in for the kill, the Valeyard rose. Head clamped in a black skull-cap, a stiff, silver-trimmed shoulder cape topping his voluminous black-as-night robes, he stretched to full height as his commanding tones shattered the silence. ‘May we not proceed, my Lady?’
All attention switched to him.
‘The cavalier manner in which the Doctor permitted his young and vulnerable companion to be destroyed militates against this charade of concern.’
A cruel statement. Yet true.
‘The Doctor is fighting for his life, Valeyard,’ reproved the Inquisitor. ‘However, I take your point.’
Turning carefully so as not to disarrange the magnificent filigree halo-head-dress of white and gold or the wide stand-up collar that complemented it, she addressed the prisoner. ‘Are you ready to present your evidence, Doctor?’
‘Yes... Yes...’ He raised his eyes, pools of sadness, to the huge screen behind the semi-circular tiers of seats where his peers sat in judgment.
‘Like the prosecutor, I’ve utilised the Matrix in preparing my defence.’ The Matrix, a link to the Amplified Panotropic Complex, was the computer that contained the memories of all the Time Lords that had ever existed. The screen was where those secrets could be viewed.
‘My excursion will be into the future.’ There was none of his usual swashbuckling in the Doctor’s manner as he surveyed the assembly.
‘The future?’ The Valeyard’s scepticism was not disguised. ‘Is it to be the Doctor’s defence that he improves?’
‘Precisely.’
‘This I must see!’ The Valeyard sat down, arms folded in a seeming mood of resignation – that was belied by the assiduous keenness with which he turned to the blank Matrix screen.
‘My submission involves a crisis that threatens not only the lives of a group confined together with no means of escape, but would, if unresolved,.menace every mortal being on the planet Earth.’
The Doctor’s statement brought a rustle of expectation from the elderly Time Lords.
‘Proceed. Doctor.’ The Inquisitor swung her chair round to face the screen.
‘Perhaps with a little less hyperbole...’ Sarcasm came naturally to the Valeyard. He never missed an opportunity for a gibe. The Doctor’s demise was his mission and he intended to achieve it. No matter how.
Bracing himself, still trying to shed the vestiges of remorse for Peri’s death, the Doctor pressed the button that activated the Matrix.
Onto the screen blinked the curved horizon of a planet shrouded in Languidly swirling gases, tinged with cadmium yellow and orange.
‘This is Mogar,’ the.Doctor expLuned. ‘An oxygen-free planet in the Perseus Arm of the Milky Way. A rich source of rare metals.’
A multi-decked spaceship with the name
Hyperion III
emblazoned on its hull came into view. It was an intergalactic liner that ferried between Mogar and Earth. A scheduled flight in the Earth year 2986.
‘A top priority consignment of these precious metals is being loaded aboard the
Hyperion III
.’ Small craft shuttled from the planet to the massive, stationary spaceship.
All concentration was on the screen as the scene changed from outside the space liner to inside.
A winding, open staircase corkscrewed its way down into a capacious lounge elegantly furnished with white tables and white intricately-carved chairs. Crew members, smartly dressed in white uniforms, moved across the lounge, tending to the passengers’ needs. Others descended the spiral staircase, carrying baggage.
‘The crew await the last passengers as they prepare for an apparently routine voyage,’ continued the Doctor.
The slight emphasis on ‘apparently’ did not escape the listeners in the Court.
Tersely, the Doctor went on. ‘Many will never complete the journey.’
In the lounge, an elderly man lowered himself gingerly into an ornate chair. Two strangely-attired aliens padded past him. Sheathed from top to toe in skin-tight silver suits, their heads were completely encased in helmets.
They were Mogarians. One, Atza, was talking rapidly to his companion. Ortezo. but the conversation was unintelligible to the rest of the passengers. And, indeed, to the occupants of the Trial Room.
Two more arrivals. Bruchner and Doland, reported in to the pert stewardess, Janet, before the Doctor dropped his final bombshell.
‘Many will die.. For in order to protect a secret hidden on the space liner, one of them will become a murderer...’
As the Doctor’s words echoed around the Trial Room, another voice, strident and commanding. emanated from the screen.
‘Am I expected to trust my life for heaven knows how many miles to a bunch of incompetents who can’t even get my luggage aboard without losing it!’
All this was said with no pause for breath and in ear-splitting decibels that fractured the calm of the thirtieth-century lounge. This was Professor Lasky. Blonde, in her forties, her trim figure draped in a puce trouser suit with matching waist-length cape, she strode from the entrance to the passenger cabins towards Janet at the reception desk.