Doctor Who: Terror of the Vervoids (7 page)

‘A navigational adjustment. As you can see, it doesn’t even require my presence on the bridge.’ His smile was completely reassuring. ‘For your information, the change of course will bring our landfall forward by seventy-two hours.’

The Mogarian Atza plucked at the Commodore’s sleeve.

An unintelligible guttural dialogue was emitted from his electronic box.

‘Switch on your translator,’ advised the Commodore.

Atza rapped the stud and the red light gleamed on his electronic box. ‘Surely we are approaching the sector with the Black Hole of Tartarus.’

‘That’s correct.’

Ortezo switched on his translator as Atza pursued his query. ‘If you are saving time, we must be going closer to the Black Hole.’

Enzu entered and joined his fellow Mogarians.

‘There is no danger. The safety margin is more than adequate.’ Never his strong suit, the Commodore’s diplomacy was wearing thin.

Only the Doctor was blatantly listening to the brittle exchange. Both Janet and Rudge concealed their interest; the stewardess by distributing refreshments, the Security Officer by concentrating on a duty roster.

Arriving and quickly summing up the situation, Doland stayed the agitated Bruchner by accepting two beakers of coffee from Janet.

‘That is hardly a denial, Commodore,’ Ortezo contributed, his light blinking.

‘Simply a bromide,’ added Enzu.

‘You’ve sought reassurance. I’ve given it.’ The Commodore, unused to having his decisions questioned, was making a deliberate effort to remain polite.

‘That word "reassurance" bears sinister undertones for we Mogarians,’ said Ortezo.

‘Indeed?’ The Commodore was curt.

‘It is the word the Earthlings used when first they persuaded us to allow them to sink mines on Mogar,’

Ortezo continued.

‘A limited concession was all they requested.’ Atza was by far the most aggressive of the three. ‘Now they are stripping our planet bare.’

The Commodore made no reply.

‘Truth is a stranger to the Earthlings,’ stated Enzu.

The Commodore had had enough. ‘If you’ll excuse me.

Politics do not come into my realm of influence.’

‘Then they should.’ The Doctor’s interference simply accelerated the Commodore’s departure. It did little to modify the sentiments of the Mogarians either.

‘Who are you? Another prospector?’

‘Only of knowledge. I’ve visited your planet. It’s very rich in natural resources.’

The Doctor’s kindly manner did not have the desired effect. Ortezo’s rejoinder was forceful. ‘Which will soon be exhausted if these Earthlings are not restrained. They are going through the Universe like a plague of interplantary locusts!’

‘Are we to be subjected to a dissertation on interplanetary politics now, Sagacity?’ The Valeyard was on his feet.

The Doctor rounded on him angrily. ‘Is that all you think it was!’

‘Mining rights. Mogarians versus Earthlings. What else would you call that?’

‘You’re so pathetically intent on incriminating me that you’re not watching what’s going on!’

‘My eyes never left the Matrix screen.’

‘You may have been selected to prosecute me, Valeyard, but I pray you’ll never be chosen to defend me!’

‘An occasion that will not arise, Doctor. Your lives are forfeit as I have ably proven.’

‘Enough!’ The Inquisitor would countenance no further argument. ‘Is this case to be resolved in a battle of words?

Or to be conducted via the Matrix?’

‘Something vital happened in that scene and the Valeyard perversely directed his attention to more mundane matters.’

‘Then for pity’s sake tell us what it was and enjoy your moment of triumph,’ urged the Valeyard.

The Doctor’s tone moderated as he replied. ‘Triumph?

There is no cause for celebration. One of the occupants in that lounge is about to die.’

‘Another murder?’ The prospect had no daunting influence on the Valeyard.

‘Yes. And if you’d been watching, you would know the intended victim.’

True. The clue had been clearly signposted.

The Doctor switched on the Matrix screen. ‘You’ll not have long to wait..

10

Intergalactic law decreed that the Commodore was absolute master of the
Hyperion III
and everyone aboard her.

Sipping a beaker of coffee which Rudge had just collected, Commodore Travers felt anything but in control.

He cast a jaundiced eye over the lounge. Mister Kimber was dozing in a recliner. The trio of self-absorbed scientists, near the drinks dispenser, were in deep, hushed discussion. Janet was circulating solicitously between tables, and close to the three Mogarians, engrossed in a hologram game, was the pair for whom the Commodore’s feelings were ambivalent, to say the least – the Doctor and Mel.

‘You’ve drawn a blank where Edwardes is concerned?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Rudge replied. ‘Perhaps if we searched the passenger cabins.’

‘No. The passengers are already uneasy. D’you want them to realise they’re trapped with a killer on the loose?’

He was in no doubt that was the position. How else could Edwardes have been electrocuted? How else could his body and the guard have disappeared without trace? How else could a passenger have been tipped into the pulveriser?

Brilliant purple imbued the hologram, signalling victory. Courteously the two defeated contestants nodded in graceful acceptance, then all three Mogarians fixed tubes to their helmets through which to suck their cooling coffee.

The Doctor’s idle gaze transferred from them to his companion. ‘You’ve been very quiet, Mel. Not quite your style to go into a brown study.’

‘Brown study?’ Mel teased. ‘Is the vocabulary of all the Time Lords so antediluvian –’

Enzu began retching and choking!

He clutched at the neck band of his suit... collapsed from his seat to the floor, convulsing... spine arching!

In reflex action, the Doctor reached him first. The tremors racking Enzu subsided as the Doctor fumbled to unclip his helmet.

‘Are you trying to kill him!’ The Commodore swiped the Doctor’s hands away from the helmet.

‘I’m trying to save him!’

‘He will die if you remove his helmet!’ screamed Atza, his translator light blinking.

‘Mogarians can’t breathe our air. Surely you’re aware of that!’ boomed Rudge.

‘
He’s not a Mogarian!
’

The Doctor’s baffling statement struck everyone speechless.

Except Mel. ‘He’s not?’

‘Then who is he?’ The others may have dismissed the Doctor’s declaration as fanciful, but the Commodore knew the Time Lord too well for that.

‘If you’ll permit me to remove the helmet, we’ll discover the answer.’ He resumed the task. ‘Though I fear the poor fellow is beyond help.’

Even the voluble Lasky was mute while the helmet was eased clear. The bearded face revealed was that of the missing passenger: the man who occupied Cabin Six; whose room was ransacked and whose shoe was found beside the pulveriser.

Janet identified him. ‘Mister Grenville!’

‘Grenville?’ The Doctor was puzzled.

‘The passenger from Cabin Six who’s supposed to have been dumped in the pulveriser!’ The Commodore’s bitter explanation brought a bizarre response from the Doctor.

‘His name isn’t Grenville. It’s Hallet!’

11

Supervised by the Commodore, a stretcher party had borne the latest murder victim from the lounge.

‘Poor Mister Hallet.’ The elderly Kimber was white with shock. ‘I knew it was Hallet. I recognised him, remember?’

His question was directed at Janet, who shook her head.

In fact, they had all heard the greeting, including the two Mogarians and the three scientists.

‘But he denied it. Insisted his name was Grenville.’

Rudge seemed more affronted than puzzled.

‘He would...’ The Doctor’s interjection did nothing to clarify the situation. He studied the others: which of them had murdered Hallet?

Mel’s thoughts were more immediate. ‘Well, whatever he’s called, Grenville or Hallet, why did he stage his own death in the pulveriser?’

‘This gentleman’s given us the answer.’

Mister Kimber was astounded to see the Doctor was indicating him. ‘I have?’

‘Hallet presumably had been assigned to investigate something – or somebody – on this ship. Then he had the bad luck to be recognised. A chance encounter that put his mission in jeopardy.’

‘Are you saying we had an undercover agent aboard and I wasn’t informed?’ The Security Officer’s pomposity would have been comic on a less sad occasion.

‘You may have been a suspect.’

‘Me!’

‘And everyone else on the journey.’ The Doctor’s conclusion encompassed the assembled listeners.

‘Is this guesswork? Or have you got more tricks up your sleeve?’

‘No tricks, Mister Rudge. I knew Hallet. And admired him. But I assure you, until I removed that helmet, I had no idea he was aboard.’

‘All nice and lily white, Doctor. But it still leaves a nasty little problem.’

‘It does?’

‘How did you know the dead man wasn’t a Mogarian?’

‘Yes, how did you know?’ The Valeyard rasped for the benefit of the whole Trial Room. ‘Have you been editing the Matrix and denying the Court evidence to which it is entitled?’

‘That would be a serious offence if true, Doctor.’

‘At the risk of being impertinent, my Lady, I must point out that you, the Valeyard and every Time Lord in this Court could have acquired similar knowledge.’

The Inquisitor’s regal head inclined towards the prisoner’s dock. ‘Perhaps we may hear your explanation.’

‘With respect, you will not hear it from me.’ He pressed the button on the Matrix, causing the images on the screen to rewind rapidly to the scene in the lounge when Atza plucked at the Commodore’s sleeve and began to speak in an unintelligible, guttural voice.

‘Switch on your translator.’ Atza switches on and a red light
flickers on his translator box. ‘Surely we are approaching the
sector with the Black Hole of Tartarus.’

The Doctor fast-forwarded the reprise to Enzu’s entrance, cutting in on the Commodore’s speech.

‘There’s no danger. The safety margin is more than adequate.’

‘That is hardly a denial,’ says Ortezo, the light flickering on
his translator box.

‘Simply a bromide,’ adds Enzu... but no light winked on his
translator box....

With a flourish, the Doctor stopped the Matrix. ‘As you saw, the bogus Mogarian did not switch on his translator!’

‘Very astute of you, Doctor,’ conceded the Valeyard, sourly. ‘But don’t stop there. Let us assume the murdered man – Grenville or Hallet, what you will – was responsible for the Mayday call.’ He paused for agreement. The Doctor did not respond. He wanted the Valeyard to continue before he was prepared to make any commitment.

‘Perhaps you’ll now direct your deductive gifts towards justifying his extraordinary behaviour.’ He smirked, sure he had gained an advantage; especially as the Inquisitor was nodding approvingly.

‘Yes. To rate it no higher, Doctor, the investigator Hallet’s methods were unorthodox.’

‘Agreed.’ The Doctor beamed at her, obviously not feeling disadvantaged by the Valeyard’s cunning. ‘And I am indebted to the prosecutor for putting his finger on the nub of my defence. The reason why I could no longer stand on the sidelines.’

He activated the Matrix.

Against the most spectacular backdrop in the firmament –

the Perseus Arm of the Milky Way – Mel and the Doctor gazed down. They stood on the balcony at the top of the spiral staircase, just below the transparent ceiling of the lounge.

‘Anybody there could’ve poisoned his drink!’ It had been verified that Enzu had died from poisoning.

‘Providing us with a plethora of suspects,’ agreed the Doctor.

‘Us? Do I detect a commitment at last?’

He nodded.

‘Because of Hallet’s death? You said you admired him.’

‘I did.’ There was sorrow in the Doctor’s tone. ‘He was one of a rare breed. A maverick. Even the highly-organised society of the thirtieth century has a need for his kind.

He’ll be missed.’

While he was speaking, Bruchner, after consulting Lasky and Doland, quit the lounge.

The Doctor fumbled in his pocket and pulled out the silver Demeter seeds.‘Hallet left these deliberately for me to find...’

‘To lead you to where I’ve been telling you all along.

The hydroponic centre!’

Perhaps if the Doctor had heeded Mel earlier, many lives would have been saved.

Instead, another was in immediate peril of being lost.

Danger came from within the ventilation shafts which honeycombed the ship’s interior: a network large enough in places for a man to walk upright... Only the beings now haunting the air ducts were not human.. For them, the world was an alien habitat tinted in a sickly green haze.

One of these denizens, reconnoitring, had encountered an impasse. Its thorn-tipped talons shook a grille that gave access to the corridor near the isolating room.

Curious about the metallic clinking, the sentry hesitated in two minds about deserting his post to investigate.

Inquisitiveness sent him on an assignation with death. He sauntered towards the grille –

‘What are you doing away from your post!’

Bruchner’s irate reprimand caused the sentry to beat a contrite retreat.

‘The isolation room is under no circumstances to be left unguarded! If it happens again, I shall report you to the Commodore!’

Yanking on a surgical mask, he stomped into the isolation room.

Ironically the resentful sentry would never appreciate that the reprimand had forestalled his extermination...

The Doctor had, at last, conceded that Mel could be right about the hydroponic centre. Crossing the hold, they passed the TARDIS, reminding Mel again of Hallet.

‘Hallet must’ve sent the Mayday call.’

‘He wanted me here as a catalyst. To divert attention from his own activities.’