The weapons held at their throats were strangely twisted, like huge corkscrews, with murderously sharp tips, and behind these the eyes of their captors glittered. No sound came from them.
Ian’s eyes took in more clearly the slanting, highly decorated walls around them.
Vrestin was also taking stock of the place, and the creatures who crowded around, holding them at bay.
‘It’s some kind of a nest!’ Vrestin exclaimed.
Ian peered at the creatures behind the strange spears. As his eyes became used to the gloom he saw that they were not unlike the Menoptera. They were smaller – dwarfed, in fact, by the tall Vrestin – and paler of skin. Their eyes were narrow, and they lacked the gaudy Menopteia markings, Also, they had no wings – only stumps, which hunched their backs. But they were alert, quick, and venomously hostile as they pressed Ian and Vrestin back against a wall with their spears and silently held them there.
Then one of their number thrust through and pointed.
At that the thicket of spears jabbed at Ian and Vrestin, forcing them to turn and stumble along a short corridor between the brightly painted walls.
Hustled by the jabbing spears, the earth man and the tall Menoptera staggered down into a large chamber daubed with bright markings.
Ian stared ahead of him and saw they were being forced towards a wall of smoke.
The smoke wreathed upward into the chamber from a crevice in the floor, A crude cauldron was suspended over this great fissure, filled with a thick, gluey liquid which bubbled and spat. At the sight of this Ian halted, resisting the jabbing which drove them forward, and yelled desperately.
‘We mean you no harm! Vrestin – tell them!’
Vrestin walked stiffly and proudly beside him, sparing their captors a disdainful glare. He said loftily, ‘They do not believe me any more than you!’
As they were forced in front of the smoking cauldron Ian peered downward. He saw a ruddy molten glow far beneath him and felt the heat which swirled up through the crevasse.
‘There’s a flame down there! It’s a crack in the planet’s crust.’
They halted. The thicket of spears behind them parted and one of their captors came through. He was small and alert, and surveyed them through slitted eyes. He turned and gestured with a delicate hand to the cauldron. To Ian’s astonishment, he spoke – in a high, cracked voice, weirdly accented. ‘Place your hands in there!’
Ian exchanged a startled glance with Vrestin – who, in spite of his lofty contempt of these creatures, was clearly surprised. Suddenly Ian felt his arms seized and he struggled wildly, wincing and giving a groan as a spear jabbed mercilessly into his side. He was borne, fighting, feet dragging to the brim of the cauldron – and there a dozen creatures gripped him, locked his hands together, and plunged them into the seething liquid.
He flinched against the expected agony of terrible scalding, and then his face cleared wonderingly.
‘It’s just... warm...!’ he muttered in relief.
Vrestin was subjected to the same treatment. The pigmy-like creatures brought Ian’s hands out, now dripping with the gluey wax.
‘... a sort of gum! What for?’
He tried to free his hands. They were stuck tight, clamped in a ball of substance that was quickly hardening.
Suddenly Ian understood its purpose. He shrugged.
‘Ah, well – better than handcuffs, I suppose...’
But the proud Vrestin was resisting and storming scornfully. ‘Barbarians! What is it that you want with us?’
The creature who had directed this operation gestured again and uttered an order in his cracked sing-song.
‘Over here...!’
The spears urged Vrestin and Ian to their feet and they were forced towards a rough seat. They were shoved on to it, surrounded by spears while one of the creatures ladled some more of the wax from the cauldron and approached.
He poured this around Ian’s ankles, patting it into a solid, rock-hard lump as it cooled.
During all this one of their captors, heavily lined about its narrow eyes and appearing infinitely older than its companions now moved forward, and the thicket of spears parted respectfully to allow him through.
‘Make way for Hetra!’ the leader with the cracked voice ordered.
The aged creature who had been called Hetra drew himself up, with some dignity, and stared at Ian and Vrestin.
‘We will test your reasons for entering our nest,’ he announced, in a hollow voice that trembled with age. He turned and beckoned to the other leader, then pointed to three of their guards.
‘A trial?’ Ian said. ‘Without listening to
us
?’
Hetra halted and turned. He gave Ian a look of withering mistrust. ‘You would not tell the truth — so your appearance is unnecessary. If we consider you hostile, and enemies — you will die!’
The creature they called Hetra gestured to those of his companions he had chosen and stalked away.
In the control room of the Zarbi Headquarters there was now such furious activity that the guards ignored the presence of Doctor Who and Vicki. The Zarbi manning the control panel were busy relaying streams of instructions to all sections of the planet. This was clear as they flicked different controls, and lights glowed on different segments of the web indicator.
In silence, Doctor Who nudged Vicki. He held a finger to his lips and signed to her to watch the distracted Zarbi control room operators.
Then keeping his own eye on the distant control panel, Doctor Who stole sidelong glances towards the heap of wishbone necklets a guard had piled on the floor not far from them. He reached it without attracting attention and cautiously bent towards the pile.
With a pencil between his outstretched fingers, the Doctor carefully lifted a necklet, balancing it with difficulty and taking care that it should not touch his skin.
Suddenly his eye lit on the strange gun-like weapon he had seen a Zarbi bring into the Headquarters and lay down. He stretched and reached for the gun, too.
Now, while Vicki watched the Zarbi with her breath held, Doctor Who tiptoed back towards their astral table.
There, with a sly smile of triumph, he tipped the necklet off his pencil on to the table, then dropped a paper over it as a shield from the gaze of any inquisitive Zarbi who might wander near. He cast a look over his shoulder.
‘Let’s hope they leave us alone long enough for me to complete these tests,’ he said to Vicki.
He peered closely at the necklet, puzzled, thoughtful.
Then he appeared to make up his mind. He reached and brought over a small box with a dial on it, graduated, not with figures, but with segments of different colours. He held this near the necklet, watched the needle flicker, took a reading as the needle stopped in a segment of the dial coloured in blue. He jotted down a note on a pad, muttered.
‘Hmm... they are controlled by... that...’
And the Doctor turned his eye towards the Dome now hanging high up on the roof. He looked back at the necklet.
‘... and in turn... control others..’
‘How, Doctor?’ Vicki asked.
Doctor Who straightened, hopeful now, ‘When I know that, my dear, well... sauce for the goose may be... sauce for the gander... I wonder...’
And he beamed mysteriously at a puzzled Vicki, without deigning to explain more.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Shh, child — keep watch on those creatures while I work.’
Now, feverishly, the Doctor opened drawers in the table and selected odd pieces of equipment, transformers, condensers, valves. He began busily connecting these, snipping wires, joining, until he had fashioned a strange electronic contraption and concentrated on connecting it by wire with the wishbone necklet.
Then, with an eye on the Zarbi, the Doctor moved around the table, unhooked the leads connecting it to
Tardis
and its power system — and plugged these into the strange circuit he had built.
He paused, his hand hovering doubtfully over the contraption’s switch. He cast a look back towards the ship.
‘Now we know the
Tardis
is an opposing force to the power in this Headquarters... that’s why that gun kicked back. Question is — which force is the stronger...?’
Vicki eyed the necklet, the small circlet of gold which had already shown such power. She said uncertainly, ‘What would happen if... this force here, the Zarbi’s... is stronger...?’
Doctor Who shrugged a little uneasily. ‘Then I’m afraid the ship’s mechanism will be ruined — ruined. However, we have no choice. Stand back, Vicki...’
Abruptly he pressed down the switch.
There was a crackle, a small sharp flash from the necklet.
Doctor Who looked pleased. He paused, then snatched up the necklet in his bare hands. ‘Look — harmless! I’ve done it.’ He chuckled and slipped the necklet back on to the table.
But the sound had alerted the Zarbi. They chirruped, and one of their number over at the control panel came scurrying towards Doctor Who and Vicki.
At the sight of the creature bearing down on her Vicki lost her head a little. She snatched up the recorder and showed it.
‘It was... nothing... just... a, uh... fuse on one of our instruments...’
Doctor Who stared in dismay. He snatched the precious recorder as the Zarbi reached for it and slipped it into a pocket. The central Dome was descending from the roof and the Zarbi, in the act of seizing Doctor Who turned, sighted the Dome, and obediently thrust the Doctor reeling towards it.
The Voice was booming already before it closed over his silvery head. It was thundering menacingly, ‘... ample time to complete your findings-ings!... Report-ort...!!’
‘They are not yet complete,’ the Doctor lied calmly.
‘That is a reply you constantly use-se!’ The Voice raged.
‘No doubt your creatures reported the explosion — a defect on my instruments due to this continual force interference! Blame your own power for these delays, for having to wait, not me...!
Vicki could see Doctor Who inside the Dome but could not hear the words with which the old man tried to keep bluffing his questioner. What alarmed Vicki was the sight of the Zarbi who now turned and scurried for the control panel, where it chirruped messages into a speaker. The central light of the web glowed hugely in answer — and then went out.
Inside the Dome an ominous silence now fell. The Voice did not answer Doctor Who’s protestations. He fidgeted and snapped, ‘so if you want our help, I repeat —
turn off your power, or, or be prepared to wait...!’
There was still no answer.
‘Well?’ the Doctor challenged.
Finally the Voice replied, almost quietly, but on a new and chilling note.
It said, ‘I have been informed that you pocketed some equipment. I have been informed...’
‘Quite so, yes — a piece of equipment damaged during my uh, tests...’
His voice trailed off as an alarming noise now sounded and echoed around the Dome — a low-pitched throbbing, rising to an intense hum. Then to his amazement the noise of a transmitter opened up.
It was coming from the recorder in his hand!
Now the voices he had recorded intoned, repeating the messages he had picked up... ‘course on bearing two-sixfive. Speed point owe-one of light. We jettison craft at altitude two-five leagues...’
Doctor Who stared speechless at the recorder.
Desperately he jammed at a switch to cut it off. But it continued, entirely unaffected.
‘... individual descent to group on Sayo Plateau... at northern extremity of Crater of Needles...’
The transmitter sound and the voice with it faded and cut off as the message ceased. A deathly silence followed.
Then the Voice boomed with harsh triumph.
‘You were in possession of the information all the time-me! You will be dealt with when the invasion has been repelled...!’
Abruptly the Dome lifted and rose away to the roof.
Doctor Who turned and stared. He and Vicki were surrounded on all sides by glaring Zarbi.
It was useless to resist. Neither he nor Vicki could take a pace in any direction.
One of the Zarbi held two necklets. It levelled these, thrust them forward. Doctor Who fought to keep his consciousness but his eyes glazed, and he and Vicki stood suddenly motionless, in a trance. The Zarbi pointed with its foreclaw. Obediently the Doctor and Vicki turned and walked dazedly towards a wall. They stood there, their eyes wide but unseeing.
One Zarbi remained to watch them, reared on its hind legs.
Now the control panel burst into action with a fresh stream of hummed orders, and with the great central light glowing. The Zarbi operators turned and scurried to obey its summons.
Clearly the Intelligence which controlled them had triumphed. It had secured all the information it needed.
Now it was acting, and issuing its battle orders.
Gripped tightly by the hardened gum which held their hands and feet in this weird nest far below ground, Ian and Vrestin sat staring around them at their captors, waiting.
Ian strained his ears to hear the mutter of conversation from this odd tribunal of creatures who had captured them and now sat in a neighbouring chamber, debating their fate.
He could make nothing of their words. His look turned towards their guards who ringed them in a circle a few paces away. Vrestin was also looking around him with puzzled curiosity. He wagged his head, baffled.
‘I can’t understand it,’ he muttered.
Ian growled. ‘You refuse to admit that such grubby, undersized little creatures as these could be related to the great race of Menoptera! Is it because you’re proud, or simply blind!’
Vrestin stared at Ian. He peered more keenly at the stunted guards who watched them from a distance. At length he nodded a little unwillingly.
‘But no Menoptera would live
under
the ground,’ he protested. ‘They would rather be slaves! Yet... they could be of our species... another race, but... still, a kind of Menoptera.’
‘Have you no idea how such a race could have come here, down into a foul place like this... or from where?’ Ian asked.
Vrestin shook his head. ‘There are no records of our flight from Vortis. It was long ago, before my time. Many fell to their death – but I cannot think how or where
these
kind came from...’