Doctor Who: War Machine (11 page)

The Minister wasn’t sure whether he understood. ‘Does that mean that if there are any more of these machines in existence we can deal with them in the same way?’

‘By no means,’ said the Doctor. ‘The first grenade exploded – so did the second. But the computer had reacted to that new experience in a matter of seconds and developed an immunity before the third grenade was thrown... The same thing will happen with this approach of mine. Believe me, the next War Machine–if it ever gets onto the streets of London– will not be so easily disposed of.’

‘What do we have to do, then? How are we to deal with this threat?’

‘We must locate any other such devices at once, and destroy them before they destroy your city.’

Tracking down other workshops where War Machines might be in the process of construction, was beyond the ability of the authorities. The warnings went out, police, security, the services, were all thrown into the search. There was a score of false alarms, but nothing was found. London was a vast city. There was little hope for a quick success.

But construction of Wotan’s War Machines was in progress, and at full pressure, in out-of-the-way back streets, in disused factories, in empty buildings, in the back yards of little engineering firms, even in garages.

In each such place, gangs of workmen and women laboured until they dropped as they tried desperately to meet a deadline – to complete the task set them before noon that day. And in all cases they had managed to keep pace with the clock. It was a super-human effort in every sense.

Not far from the dock area, in a disused repair shop littered with wrecks of old vehicles, a team was racing to put the finishing touches to the Machine.

The leader of the workers checked the Machine before contacting headquarters.

‘Central Control,’ he called. ‘We have completed the first stage, and are reporting as instructed. Permission to turn on power.’

Brett’s voice came back over the receiver. ‘Permission granted. Carry out the switch-on. Stand by for testing. There must be no mistakes. The disaster of Covent Garden will not be tolerated... You understand?’

‘Message understood.’

‘Very well... Switch on.’

The leader showed no emotion as he crossed to the War Machine standing in the repair shop, surrounded by the exhausted crowd of workers.

He turned a small switch in what might be the nape of the short neck... and the effect was instantaneous. Lights glowed in the eye positions, a tremor ran through the entire structure – it was as though blood had started to flow in a living body, and the Machine was coming to life. The massive head turned slowly to take in its first view of those who had created it.

Ben hurried back to the Doctor.

‘I’ve been through the whole place, Doctor.. There’s no sign of Polly.’

‘Don’t worry, my boy. She’ll turn up.’

He couldn’t understand how the old man could be so calm about it!

‘But she was there! I saw her. Everyone else had been accounted for.’

‘I’m afraid I have no time to talk about Polly now,’ said the Doctor. He was absorbed in a mass of internal parts, the circuits of the dissected mechanism before him.

He was surrounded by an anxious group. ‘What progress, Doctor?’ asked the Minister. ‘Does it make any sense?’

The Doctor nodded. ‘I think I have decoded the programme mechanism. It has a complex programme built into it, a highly specialised knowledge. It has to be aware of its function in cooperation with other such Machines.’

‘But what exactly does that mean?’

‘If I’m right, this is one with eleven other machines–making twelve in all – which are being built in and around London, within a radius of twenty miles... There is a timing device... here... which feeds into the computer system. By my calculations all twelve machines are programmed to go into action at twelve o’clock today.’

There was a shocked silence.

‘Twelve o’clock!’ The Minister was appalled. ‘Eleven other machines like this!’ He looked helplessly at the Doctor. ‘What can we possibly do?’

It was Brett’s voice that came over the air, sounding through the old repair shop.

‘Each War Machine is known by an individual name. This is Valk, the second to be created and incorporating advanced features. After this final testing, Valk will be ready to make his own decisions – always conforming to the overall plan devised by Wotan.’

The eyesockets glowed brighter, seeming to flash angry signals. The Machine appeared to rouse itself, shaking off an invisible restraint. It was like an animal on a leash.

‘Turn left!’ ordered Brett.

The Machine obeyed. It was taking instructions – not from this human being whose voice all could hear – but from another computer which had designed it, Wotan.

‘Turn right... Move forward..’

The Machine moved slowly through the crowd. It gave the impression of testing its own strength, stretching its limbs, sensing its power. It had about it an air of independence, an almost casual way of moving, that hinted at a contempt for all things – not just human things.

‘Halt!’ ordered Brett. ‘This is your basic function. You must be ready to go into attack when given the order. There are to be no mistakes. The next series of tests will reinforce disciplines... For cooperation in attack... Valk is to move towards the exit... Continue until instructed to stop..

The Machine moved towards the doors, its head turning slowly, eyes lighting up the corners of the room. It was clearly searching for something, as it hesitated. To one side stood the receiver/transmitter over which Brett’s voice issued instructions. It was a good five or six yards from the door, but the Machine turned in its tracks and headed for it.

‘You are to continue to the exit,’ Brett’s voice came loudly.

Valk ignored him, neither slowing down nor increasing speed, merely ploughing on at its own steady pace towards the bank of instruments. Then, raising its heavy arms, it brought them down with a crash on the equipment.

‘You are to obey... ’ Brett’s voice was cut short. The floor was littered with the instruments’ remains. Valk swept them aside, and pushed open the repair shop doors.

The situation was incomprehensible. Brett spoke in a bewildered whisper. ‘We have been cut off. The Machine has destroyed all communication!’

A wave of pulses flowed through Wotan. Krimpton felt as though he himself were fighting for breath. ‘A fault in the programming,’ he said lamely. ‘We must correct it.’

The Captain reported back to Sir Charles.

‘We’ve been through the entire warehouse, sir. Rounded everyone up.’

‘Did they give any trouble?’

‘None at all. They looked to me as though they’d been brainwashed. I’ve brought one chap along. I thought you might like to ask him a few questions.’ ‘Bring him in,’ said Sir Charles.

The Doctor looked up from his examination as the Captain signalled to his men at the door.

A man was led in.

‘Major Green!’ The Doctor greeted him cheerfully. ‘You know him, Doctor?’ asked the Minister.

‘Of course!’ He turned to the Major. ‘You remember me, don’t you, Major?’

The Major passed a hand over his face. ‘No, I’m sorry... I don’t seem able to remember anything.’ ‘But you know where you are?’ suggested the Doctor. The Major looked round. He shook his head. ‘What is this place?’

‘So... you don’t know where you are? Suppose I said Covent Garden. Would that mean anything?’ ‘Of course. The market.’

The Doctor nodded. He pointed to the bits and pieces on the table – sections of the War Machine... ‘But you can tell us quite a bit about this?’ suggested the Doctor.

The Major was startled. ‘Good lord! What is it?’ ‘Thank you, gentlemen.’ The Doctor waved a hand. ‘You can take him away... He will probably require medical help.’

As the Major was led out, Sir Charles looked on doubtfully. ‘How do you know he’s telling the truth?’ ‘I’m certain of it.’ The Doctor was already back at work. ‘The fellow remembers nothing since he was absorbed into Brett’s computer system.’

‘You seem very positive about that.’

‘I am,’ the Doctor agreed.

‘Well, if Brett is at the root of this business, the sooner we get into the Post Office Tower the better,’ said Sir Charles firmly.

‘And what are you going to do there?’ asked the Doctor.

‘Arrest him, of course!’

The Doctor shook his head. ‘Very dangerous. That sort of strong-arm method will only land us in more trouble.’

‘I strongly resent–’ Sir Charles began, but the Minister interrupted, ‘What do you suggest, Doctor?’

The Doctor was probing the computer circuits at the back of the War Machine. ‘It’s going to be difficult,’ he admitted.

It would not have been possible for Valk to move through the streets of London – not even in the back alleys behind the deserted dock areas–without creating panic. People fled at the sight of him. Phones were jammed. Police stations were flooded with calls from a terrified public.

‘I’ve just seen it! One of them things they warned us about on the telly! It’s walking! Out therein the street! Smashing anything in its way!’

Warnings went out over the air. ‘A second War Machine has been seen. Keep off the streets. Under no circumstances must it be approached or challenged. Phone your local police if you have anything to report. Further bulletins will be issued.’

Ben watched the Doctor at work. The old man was absorbed in dissecting the mass of electronics that was once a War Machine. Of course it was important to find out what made it tick, but Ben couldn’t forget Polly. If only the Doctor could do something to help her!

‘If they’re building more of these things, then they could have switched her to one of the other workshops,’ he said. ‘She could be helping them to put together another blooming monster somewhere else!’

‘My dear boy.’ The Doctor didn’t even look up. ‘If we start worrying about one person we’ll never solve anything.’

Ben turned grimly to the sergeant at the door. ‘And he looks such a kind old bloke, doesn’t he?’

‘He’s enough on his hands already, mate,’ said the sergeant.

‘Maybe,’ said Ben, ‘but that little duchess saved my life. She could be in bad trouble.’

A trail of wreckage littered the streets behind Valk. He seemed to take a special delight in destruction, mighty arms smashing every obstacle. A parked car was beaten to the ground, a sweeper’s barrow finished up as a heap of splinters. Terrified groups watched from street corners, racing away in panic as the Machine lurched towards them. A woman screamed; a metal fist shattered glass as she ran. A child with an ice-cream would have been pulverised had not a man dashed out to drag him to safety.

Valk shambled through London and the watching populace was stunned.

Police and military were in constant touch with Sir Charles.

‘It’s moving through Battersea, heading for the power station. There’s been appalling destruction... We can’t delay any longer. I suggest troops open fire,’ said Sir Charles.

‘That will get you nowhere,’ said the Doctor. ‘You saw what happened in Covent Garden.’

‘But we have to do something or we’ll have a full-scale panic on our hands.’

‘Shooting will make things worse.’ The Doctor was firm.

‘Then what do you suggest?’ asked the Minister. ‘We have one chance,’ said the Doctor thoughtfully. ‘But for that we must get hold of another of these machines.’

‘Get hold of it!’ ‘Exactly..’

Professor Brett and Krimpton worked flat out. There were adjustments to make... The indiscipline that Valk had shown had to be corrected. None of the other War Machines would be switched on until the fault was found. Wotan must be the final source of power and authority. The flaw in the computer that had allowed Valk to defy Wotan was located... It was a race against time.

They were startled as the door to Brett’s office opened and Polly walked in... More defiance? Another failure?

‘Why are you here?’

‘I submit myself to Wotan’s judgement.’ She spoke in an odd, stilted fashion. ‘I helped to set free a prisoner.’

‘Wotan will consider this later,’ said Brett. ‘If guilty you will be destroyed.’

‘I understand.’

‘But now your help is needed. Check the instruments as we make these tests.’

Polly went obediently to her desk.

The Doctor explained his plan to the assembly. ‘There is no point in attacking from without. Our chance is to paralyse from within.’

He demonstrated, pointing to the Machine laid out on the table before him. ‘This section houses the control unit. It can only be approached from the back of the structure... and it is electronically controlled.’

He had to break off as a flurry of reports arrived. The Minister looked up. ‘We don’t have much time, Doctor.’

‘Then I shall want equipment to create a powerful magnetic field... Sufficient to operate from twenty feet.’

‘Twenty feet from what, Doctor?’

‘From the Machine we are about to capture.’ There was a moment of silence.

‘Won’t that be dangerous?’

‘Very,’ said the Doctor.

‘And if it fails?’

‘Do you have any other suggestions, gentlemen?’ asked the Doctor.

The Minister and Sir Charles came out of their conference with the Service chiefs. Decisions had been made. They rejoined the Doctor. ‘Where do you want this equipment?’

‘Where was the Machine last sighted?’ he asked. They had a map of the area on the wall. Sir Charles indicated the trail Valk had taken. ‘Just about here when last reported,’ he said.

The Doctor examined the map. ‘If you were able to block off this street... and this... and this... the Machine would come down here.’

They saw what he was planning.

‘I see,’ the Minister nodded. ‘So it comes down here..

‘And with any luck... ’ said the Doctor. But he didn’t finish the sentence.

The organisation was carried out at speed. The streets were empty; no traffic held up the army as they carried out the trap this white-headed old man had suggested. Few hoped for much. The idea was hare-brained, but no one had come up with another idea.