Doctor Who: War Machine (7 page)

‘I certainly contacted something,’ said the Doctor ruefully. ‘Yes, I remember asking to speak to Professor Brett, then everything seemed to explode. I was knocked off my feet. It was as if... as if..

‘What, Doctor?’ She had to know how much he might have guessed.

‘I can’t explain. But as if something enormous and terribly powerful had nearly consumed me... nearly absorbed me.’

She looked at him, shocked. So he had not been consumed or absorbed... as she and all the others had been. He was still himself – still alien to their cause.

The Doctor was speaking, trying to clarify his feelings. ‘I know it sounds ridiculous... Perhaps the telephone line is at fault. Something as simple as that.. An ordinary, or rather an extraordinary, electric shock.’

She had to be sure. ‘You received no instructions?’ He peered at her. ‘My dear child! Instructions from whom?’

‘From... from... ’ Her mind seemed to come to a stop.

Sir Charles hurried in with a glass and decanter. ‘Have a tot of this.’

‘Thank you.’ The Doctor took a couple of sips. ‘Well, Sir Charles, either your phone is badly out of order or... ’ He frowned.

‘Or what?’ asked Sir Charles.

‘I hesitate to think.’ The Doctor looked round quickly to see Dodo about to slip out of the room. ‘Stay where you are, Dodo!’ he called.

The door to the office opened and Polly looked out. ‘Is something the matter?’

‘I believe there is,’ said the Doctor grimly. ‘A new and very deadly danger threatens all of us. And it seems to originate from Professor Brett’s office.’

‘Impossible,’ said Polly. ‘That’s where I work.’

‘I don’t follow,’ said Sir Charles. ‘I don’t understand.’

The Doctor spoke almost to himself. ‘I don’t think any of us do as yet.’

Dodo remained motionless at the door. Now he called her over. She moved towards him slowly, almost reluctantly, as though a struggle were going on inside her.

‘Sit down, my child,’ said the Doctor, and she obeyed him.

For a moment he held her head in his hands and stared into her eyes. The others looked on.

‘As I suspected,’ said the Doctor, ‘she’s in some sort of trance. A form of hypnotism, very deep-seated... fundamental. I can’t say I have seen before anything as powerfully destructive of the personality. But... ’ he shrugged, ‘we can but try.’

He passed his fingers over her brow, seeming to seek out nerve centres. Then he put pressure on the sides of her head.

‘Listen to me, child,’ he said. ‘I want you to repeat "I am Dodo Chaplet... I am able to resist all attempts to transform me into someone – or something– else."’

It was an enormous effort for the girl, but she spoke slowly, painfully, repeating what the Doctor had said. ‘I shall count to five,’ said the Doctor, ‘and when I finish counting you will go to sleep. When you awake, you will have forgotten all about this – er – distressing affair.’

The onlookers weren’t sure whether she had heard. ‘I shall start counting. One... two... three.. Dodo’s eyes began to close.

‘Four... five..

Her head fell forward and she was heavily asleep. The Doctor examined her for a moment. ‘She will sleep for about forty-eight hours... After that she must have a complete rest... She has gone through a traumatic experience... And survived, I am happy to say.’

‘And you’re sure she’s going to be all right?’ asked Polly.

‘She will be her old self again,’ said the Doctor. ‘Thank goodness for that.’ Polly took a deep breath. ‘I feel it was my fault. I should have looked after her better.’

Neither man noticed as she left the room.

‘I tell you what,’ said Sir Charles. ‘I’ll arrange for Dodo to be taken down to my place in the country. My wife will be glad to look after her.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’ The Doctor looked at the face of the sleeping girl. ‘Take good care of her. She has been a very brave and loyal friend.’

Sir Charles nodded. He turned to call for Polly. ‘Now where has that girl gone?’ Life, in the eyes of Sir Charles, was full of the unexpected.

The Doctor stood by Dodo, watching her closely, as though trying to read a secret.

‘She said something,’ he mused. ‘Something about the strategic points in London... I wonder what she meant.’

Sir Charles shook his head. It was all beyond him...

The strategic points were varied, and they had been in use, most of them, for several hours.

At London Airport a uniformed group of men merged with the general staff, using trucks, loaders, workshops, acting as security patrols, and going about official business with great efficiency.

The central railway stations also had inconspicuous individuals close to positions of control. Even some of the city’s famous buildings appeared to have an influx of new workers, unchallenged after the first few encounters with the authorities.

It was a silent, bloodless takeover which included the Television Centre of the BBC, radio stations, and other centres of communication and transport.

There were never many of such anonymous strangers, but always sufficient to take the reins into their own hands. Such preparations drew little attention to themselves, but they were continuous. London was being prepared for an assault.

The warehouse at Covent Garden was by no means the only one to be working flatout that morning, but it was the first into production.

Inside, the first machine was taking shape, and was remarkable in its resemblance to the human form. A small square ‘head’ now topped the massive body. In this way it was similar to Wotan. Perhaps that was why the model was turning out as it was – Wotan had been designed by man... influenced by his own experience, and Wotan in turn had devised a generation close to its own experience. Even as he worked, Brett guessed that future generations would create other forms for themselves, less and less like their originators.

But he had no time for such speculation. He was involved with the new functions that Wotan had produced. This machine – the War Machine, as it was coded – had a mobile base. It had wheels which it had power to direct and control. This gave it great flexibility for such a heavy structure.

The other aspect that Brett noted with the any fragment of his mind that seemed to remain his own, was that although the body of the machine was not complete, the ‘head’ was alive! It was functioning, thinking, instructing, turning from left to right, observing balefully, shining its blinding beams of light, dazzling all those on whom it turned, even as they worked to complete the whole. It was an uncanny feeling to be putting together the creature – if creature it was – while the thing was already alive in so many of its parts. Deep within, the computer existed like a nervous system, throbbing with an energy and power that even Wotan could not match.

Brett was no longer capable of rational thought; he followed the flow of blue-prints that arrived from his own office, his energy unflagging.

There were sections under development about which Brett knew nothing. Like all those around, he obeyed orders, and he stood aside as Major Green waved away the rest of the work force. The Major carried a short, squat object which looked like an automatic shotgun. After all, that would be something the Major would understand.

‘Stand back!’ shouted the Major. ‘Destructive mechanism to be fitted for testing.’

The mechanism fitted exactly into the War Machine. Everything came together with a mathematical precision which Brett noted with approval. The arms of the Machine were able to turn the weapon at any angle.

‘Prepare for demonstration,’ called the Major.

The group around the Machine parted as the weapon was raised and sighted. They looked on, impassively. A short distance away another worker stacked crates against a wall. He heard the Major’s order and began to move away.

‘Stay where you are!’ called the Major. ‘And stand still.’

The man made no protest. He faced the Machine as it adjusted its sights.

The Major read an instrument before him. ‘Bearing 52 degrees. Distance thirty feet. Elevation five feet ten inches. Impact to be fatal.’

The Machine flashed and crackled a spate of signals. ‘Aim adjusted,’ said the Major. ‘Results to be logged.. Test... Fire!’

There was a flash of white light, and a faint, dull explosion.

The man against the wall slowly slid to the ground. ‘Effective at thirty feet,’ said the Major.

There was an urgent message for both Brett and Krimpton. They were to return to Brett’s office. They stood before Wotan as the computer rattled out a single question... Where was the Doctor?

‘We have had no word from the girl,’ said Brett.

‘She may have failed again,’ said Krimpton.

‘Other means must be used,’ Wotan burst forth. ‘The Doctor is essential. Failure is not permitted nor tolerated.’

There was the sound of the outer door opening. ‘That could be the girl.’ Brett opened the door. Polly hurried in, A look of relief lit up her face as she saw Brett. ‘Thank goodness you’re here, Professor,’ she said. ‘Something very odd has been happening. Are you all right?’

Brett moved behind her and closed the door.

She was aware of something strange about the two men. They moved stiffly, their eyes were blank. She was suddenly very frightened.

‘We must destroy in order to protect,’ said Krimpton, as though he were repeating a lesson. Brett was locking the door.

The Doctor watched Dodo being driven away, still asleep as if drugged, and then returned to the house. He was surprised to find a visitor.

‘Bless my soul, it’s Ben! How did you know I was here?’

The sailor looked worried; the cockney sparkle had gone. ‘Hope you don’t mind me turning up, Doctor, but I had this appointment to meet Polly. Lunchtime, she said. ‘Course she might have thought better of it, and just given me the elbow.’

‘She didn’t keep the appointment?’

‘She didn’t. And they told me at the Post Office Tower that she’d come here.’

‘She’s already left,’ the Doctor told him. ‘This is something I feared.’

‘Something wrong, Doc?’ He glanced round. ‘No sign of Dodo?’

‘Dodo has gone to the country for a few days’ rest. I am no longer worried about her. It’s Polly who might need your help.’

‘’Course she might have gone upmarket and doesn’t want to know me in the light of day.’

‘I doubt that,’ said the Doctor. He picked up the morning paper and handed it to Ben. ‘Have you seen this?’

He glanced at it. ‘Yes, I thought it was the old fellow we met last night. Bit of a coincidence. What’s that got to do with Polly?’

‘I’m not sure it has anything to do with her... but it may have. Indeed, it may have something to do with a greater problem.’ He hesitated. ‘I wonder if you’d like to help me, my boy?’

‘Spell it out, Doctor.’

‘You remember when we left that club last night?’

‘Yes.’

‘I seem to remember the poor fellow was still with you as we drove off?’

‘Right,’ said Ben. ‘I asked him if he had a bed and he pointed to this warehouse. Said he had a place to doss down there.’

‘Do you think you could find it?’

‘Certain I could.’

‘This might be dangerous,’ warned the Doctor. ‘Spice of life,’ grinned Ben. He was beginning to enjoy himself.

‘Vary dangerous,’ added the Doctor.

‘I’ll watch it,’ Ben nodded.

‘I’d like you to have a look round there. A little investigation. Don’t attract attention... and take care.’

Ben grinned again. ‘Will do, Doc.’

He didn’t lose any time, leaving the Doctor poring over a sheaf of documents, plans, photos and information about the Post Office Tower and the research that went on there. He was already putting together the pieces of a jigsaw, and the picture grew more alarming.

Ben was surprised to find the area round the warehouse so sparsely populated. It was almost like a no-go area. The truck which had been parked there the night before was still in position. The only people he saw were a couple of men, hanging about, apparently doing nothing. Ben read the signs. They were on guard... but guarding what?

He walked casually by, went down an alleyway, made sure he wasn’t watched, then doubled back.

The tramp had said there was a side door. Ben slipped into the little courtyard that backed onto the buildings. It was stacked with boxes, rubbish, rotting vegetables.

The side door was hidden by the litter, but he found it. As he began to open it, he heard a strange sound from within. He tried to make out what it could be... A clanking noise, probably mechanical... and the hum of something electronic, reminding him of a ship’s engine.

There were also voices, a subdued mutter, as though many people were speaking very quietly. It was an eerie feeling to be standing at that door, listening.

He pushed the door gently, and it swung in slightly. He could hear quite clearly.

A man called out, ‘Silence... Stand by... Fire..

A burst of faint explosions followed – not like any gunfire that Ben had ever heard before. He was startled. The Doctor had warned him it might be dangerous, but what was this? He moved cautiously into the darkened corridor. Another door lay ahead.

Major Green recorded the pattern of the weapon. It was almost perfect. The War Machine sprayed shot along the stack of crates. The results were devastating. Its range increased with each test. Metals were shattered. ‘Stand by for tests on arm action!’ The Major wasn’t sure what the tests would be, for by now the Machine had begun to take over its own decision-making.

‘Demonstrate power of body,’ the Major ordered. He was as shaken as the other onlookers as the Machine lifted its massive arms aloft and brought them down with a crash on the heavy table beside it. It splintered like a matchbox.

‘Test satisfactory,’ the Major managed to record. ‘Sight testing,’ he called.

Front where he stood, peering through the tiny opening in the door, Ben looked on, transfixed.

The head-like section of the strange contraption was beginning to rotate from side to side. The rays of light from two positions like eye sockets passed across the warehouse as a lighthouse might throw its beams. As it flamed across the door Ben just had time to pull back out of sight.