Doctor Who: Fury From the Deep (6 page)

Harris stood up, cupped his wife's face gently between his hands, and asked, 'Who wouldn't allow you?'

Maggie had that vacant look in her eyes again. 'I... I don't know... ' Then, with a sudden flash of unexpected anger, she pulled Harris's hands away from her and said, '
It was the seaweed!
'

Harris was just in time to catch Maggie as she collapsed. 'All right love,' he said, trying not to panic. 'Just lie down and rest.' He lowered her back onto the bed, and made her comfortable. He smoothed her forehead with his hand, then kissed it gently. 'What you could do with is some food.'

Although Maggie's eyes were closed, she managed a more characteristic smile. 'Poor darling,' she said softly. 'You can't even boil an egg!'

Harris laughed. He was relieved that this was more like the Maggie he knew and loved. 'It serves you right for marrying a scientist...'

Maggie's recovery was short-lived. Her smile quickly faded, and with her eyes still closed, she slowly raised her head from the pillow. She seemed to be listening to something.

Harris, alarmed again, took hold of Maggie's shoulders.

'Darling? What is it?'

Maggie's face was absolutely rigid. Her mind was focussed elsewhere, drowned beneath a series of alien sounds which raced in and out of her subconscious like the endless roar of jetliners. The subliminal images she was receiving were coming from her own kitchen patio outside. She could 'see' the seaweed clump where she had thrown it, nestling in a bed of foam. And the bubbles and the weed popping, to emit a gaseous vapous. And the relentless hissing, thumping, heartbeat sound, growing in intensity, tearing into Maggie's brain until she could bear it no more...

Maggie's eyes sprang open suddenly. She was staring straight into Harris's face. It looked distorted, like a gargoyle.

'What is it, love?' Harris was shaking her. 'Tell me!'

His voice seemed to boom out like thunder, and Maggie clutched her ears in pain.

'Are you ill, Maggie? Tell me!'

It took Maggie a moment or so to focus. When she did, her voice was barely audible. 'I... I don't know,' she whispered. 'I just feel... I don't know...'

Harris became immediately urgent. He lowered Maggie's head gently to the pillow, and said, 'I'm going back to see if Doc Patterson's returned from the rig yet.' He stood up, pulled the duvet over Maggie, and tucked her in. 'Will you be all right?'

Maggie didn't answer. She closed her eyes again, and just nodded her head.

Harris kissed her gently on the forehead, then went to the door.

'If Doc Patterson's not back, there's another Doctor that's turned up at the Refinery. He may be able to help.'

Again Maggie didn't answer. She seemed to be falling asleep.

Harris took one last anxious look at his wife, then left.

For a moment or so, Maggie remained still and silent. She was breathing heavily, but felt no real discomfort.

As the thaw continued outside, long icicles from the roof began to melt. Their intermittent dripping sounds onto the window-sill could almost have been notes from a song. A warning song perhaps.

Maggie was falling deeper and deeper into sleep. The song of the icicles could have been a million years away in comparison to the sounds that were again creeping into her subconscious. Thumping.

Pulsating. The pounding of a heartbeat.

Maggie's eyes sprang open. But she was not awake. The thumping sound was closer, and she lay there listening to it. Then, almost as though on the word of a command, she threw off the duvet, rose up from the bed, and walked slowly towards the door. As she left the room, the last of the icicles outside finally melted.

Out into the hall, then into the kitchen. Maggie had no sense of where she was, or what she was doing. Her eyes were wide open, but she was fast asleep. She was living through a nightmare where some mystical force was commanding her to do something. But what?

As Maggie entered the kitchen, the heartbeat sounds were becoming louder and louder, faster and faster. The door! The door to the back patio! That's where Maggie was determined to go,
had
to go. But she didn't know why. Like an ethereal angel, she seemed to glide across the kitchen floor, step by perilous step, closer and closer towards her destiny. At last, she was at the door. Her hands blindly searched for the handle. They clasped it with a grip of iron. Slowly, it began to turn...

Maggie paused. Her own heartbeat was now competing with the one on the other side of that door. In one swift movement, she pulled open the door.

The noise was horrific. Thumping. Pulsating. Shrieking.

Hissing. The seaweed clump was expanding in size, out of control.

Maggie clutched her ears in agony, slammed the door, and locked it. Rubbing her eyes, struggling to breathe, she just stood with her back to the door, totally bewildered. It was as though she had suddenly been awoken from a nightmare.

'What's all the panic?' Robson was pushing his way through a crowd of engineers who were anxiously watching a cluster of meters on the wall of the Impeller Area.

'It's the pump, sir!' said the Chief Engineer, urgently. The strain of the past few hours was beginning to catch up on him, for his eyes were glazed with tiredness. 'The revs have dropped.'

'The pump is slowing down, ja?' Van Lutyens was clearly shocked by this new development, for it was very rare that he slipped back into his native language, even one word of it.

The Chief Engineer tapped one of the meters with two of his fingers, then checked it for any change in movement. 'She's not holding steady even now,' he said nervously. 'I don't understand it!'

'Well, don't just stand there looking at it, man!' Robson was literally pushing the other engineers out of his way. 'Do a complete check!'

'Excuse me. D'you mind if I make a suggestion?'

Robson turned around with a glare to see the Doctor calling from the back of the group.

'When I was in your pipeline room just a short while ago, I distinctly heard some kind of movement coming from inside the pipeline tube. It was identical to the movement I heard coming from inside the pipeline on the beach,' said the Doctor in a stern voice. 'A thumping, pulsating type of sound.'

Van Lutyens immediately became very animated. 'That is what they heard out on the rigs!'

'Nonsense!' snarled Robson, aware that alarm was being generated amongst his crew. 'What they heard and what everyone's heard is a mechanical fault somewhere along the line!'

'But why did they hear it way out on the rigs?' insisted the Doctor.

'Because, my friend, beneath this impeller shaft is a vast steel gasometer buried in the earth. It's like an echo chamber. Drop even a pin down there and it'll sound like a thunder-clap! Any sound down there travels along the pipeline.'

Robson's theory seemed logical, but unconvincing.

'But this sound wasn't mechanical,' retorted van Lutyens.

There was no doubt that Robson was now on the defensive.

'All right!' he thundered. 'Suppose it wasn't mechanical. Suppose there
is
something in the pipeline, a fish or something. What d'you expect me to do about it?'

The Doctor was first to reply. 'Turn off the gas flow until you've had a chance to check.'

'Out of the question!'

'But Mr Robson,' pleaded van Lutyens, 'if something
is
inside the - '

Robson was adamant. 'We do not turn off the flow. And that's final!'

'Down another half, sir!' The Chief Engineer was tapping the pressure meter again.

Robson pushed him aside to look at the meter himself. 'It
must
be a mechanical fault!' he snapped. 'Get a couple of men in here, and double-check!'

'Yes, sir!' The Chief Engineer rushed out.

Van Lutyens wiped the sweat from his forehead, and took an anxious look at the pressure meter. The indicator needle was flickering perilously close to the red danger level.

'If you allow the pressure to build up much more in that pipeline!' said the Dutchman, turning to Robson, 'you'll blow the Control Rig sky-high!'

'And all of us with it,' warned the Doctor.

Van Lutyens stared defiantly straight into Robson's eyes. 'Just because you're too stubborn to turn off the gas!'

There was a delayed reaction from Robson, which seemed like hours to the crew who were watching tensely.

'So what d'you think it is then?' There was a restrained but acid calm in Robson's eventual reply. 'Some more of these creature things that hysterical girl is supposed to have seen?'

'Who knows?' answered the Doctor. His face revealed just the hint of a wry smile.

In the Control Hall, Price was showing Jamie and Victoria the lay-out of the communications system.

'You mean, this place supplies gas to the whole of the south of England?' asked Jamie, casting his eyes over the maze of computer monitors on the huge Cone structure.

'Not only England,' replied Price. 'Wales too.'

Victoria's face was illuminated by a succession of different coloured lights, flashing on and off all over the Cone. 'What are all these lights for?' she asked, looking totally bewildered.

Price nodded towards a computerised board. 'That's a plan of the entire Refinery Compound. Each light represents a remote-controlled camera that I can switch through to my own personal monitor if I want to check with a particular area.'

Jamie scratched his head, trying hard to take in all the technical information. 'What about these rigs they keep talking about?'

'The rigs are out at sea,' said Price. He was now looking up at the huge illuminated panel on top of the Cone. 'That panel up there shows the relative position of all of them.'

'What's the big one... there in the middle?' asked Victoria. She was referring to a large red-coloured oblong shape in the centre of the panel.

'That's our main Control Complex Rig, the nerve centre of the entire group. The other rigs feed her with the gas, and she pumps it through to us via the main pipeline.'

'How horrible to have to live out there in the sea all that time,'

said Victoria, bringing the conversation down to a more human level.

'And lonely.'

'Oh, I don't know,' said Price. 'Mr Robson spent nearly four years on one of the early rigs. He never came ashore once.'

'Aye,' said Jamie acidly. 'That accounts for quite a lot.'

Jamie had no sooner spoken when Robson himself came out of the Impeller Area. Van Lutyens and the Doctor were with him.

'Doctor! I need your help!'

The Doctor turned, to see Harris hurrying across the Hall from the compound entrance.

'It's my wife. She's very ill.'

'I'm sorry, Mr Harris,' said the Doctor awkwardly. 'You see I'm not really a - '

'Our own doctor is still out at Rig D. There's no one else I can turn to.' There was desperation in Harris's voice. 'You
must
come.

Right away!'

'He's going nowhere!' interrupted Robson, firmly.

'But this is an emergency,' insisted Harris.

'These people are in my custody until I decide what to do with them.'

'But my wife... ' Harris was almost pleading.

Robson thumped his fist on the side of the Cone. 'Damn you, Harris! I won't have you bringing your domestic problems into this refinery.' Then he turned and shouted at the rest of his crew working in the Hall. 'And that goes for the lot of you!'

Harris was appalled. This time Robson had gone too far. 'Mr Robson,' he said through clenched teeth, 'my wife is ill. If anything happens to her, I'll... '

Robson was completely taken aback by his second-incommand's defiance. But he had been long enough in the business to know that if he lost the respect of his crew, there was nothing left.

'All right, Mr Harris,' he replied, without blinking his eyes. 'One hour!'

'Mrs Harris?'

'Yes?'

'We're maintenance controllers, madam. I wonder if we could have a few words with your husband?'

Maggie had answered her front door to two men. One of them was small and fat. The other was tall and thin. Both of them were dressed in white cap, tunic, and trousers. They looked like medical orderlies.

Maggie rubbed her eyes and tried to focus. She was absolutely drained of all energy. 'My husband isn't here,' she said. 'He's at the Compound.'

It was Mr Oak who replied. He was the small, fat one, with a cherubic, almost circular face, which seemed to be fixed in a perpetual smile. 'Oh dear,' he said, 'that does make it rather difficult.

We have to carry out an inspection.'

'Inspection?'

'Your gas cooker, madam. In the kitchen.'

Maggie looked blank.

Mr Oak exchanged a puzzled look with his colleague. Then he turned back to Maggie and said, 'Your husband didn't tell you?'

'No, he didn't,' sighed Maggie wearily. 'Look, I'm not feeling very well. Can't it wait until another day?'

Mr Oak shook his head, but retained his smile. 'Oh, I'm afraid not, madam. It's got to be done without delay. Chief Robson's instructions.'

Maggie groaned. 'Chief Robson! That man never stops giving out instructions. Well, I suppose you'd better come in.' She opened the door wide, and stood back.

'Thank you, madam,' said Mr Oak, bowing politely. 'After you, Mr Quill.'

The tall, thin man entered the hallway first. He was carrying a small black leather bag. Mr Oak followed him in.

'Allow me to introduce ourselves, madam,' said small and fat.

'My name's Mr Oak. And this is my colleague, Mr Quill.'

Mr Quill didn't speak. In fact he never spoke. He slightly raised his cap, and bowed politely.

Maggie closed the front door and said impatiently, 'Could you please be quick? I really am not very well.' She pointed to a door on the other side of the hallway. 'That's the kitchen.'

'Thank you madam,' said Mr Oak. 'And don't you worry about us. You won't even know we're here. Will she, Mr Quill?'

Maggie disappeared quickly back into her bedroom. Only then did Mr Oak's smile finally fade. He nodded to tall and thin, and they both went into the kitchen.