by Doctor Who
And it was torture, waiting for the old man to act.
They watched Tiermann’s hand dither over the control.
And then they were interrupted by a shriek from Barbara. It was as if the vending robot was in pain. Her electronic voice shattered the dusky red air and her companions jerked in shock, clutching their ears.
‘Barbara,’ the Doctor said, pressing closer to her. ‘What is it?’
He tried to touch her, to help her. But Barbara warned him back. He could only manage a single step backwards in the confined space. He was close enough to feel the tension and confusion bristling through Barbara’s circuits. She was swaying on her sturdy legs and clutching her glowing eyes. In the red light, no one could see the change that had overcome her, but it was obvious that something was terribly wrong.
‘Professor Tiermann, get away from the controls. . . ’ Barbara intoned. She was inching and teetering towards Tiermann. And suddenly her squat bulk seemed menacingly heavy. If she wanted to she could easily crush the life out of a softbody.
‘Barbara. . . ’ coaxed the Doctor. ‘What is it. . . ?’
‘She’s. . .
she’s. . .
reaching out to me, Doctor. . . ’
Barbara
squawked, in something closer to her own voice. ‘The Domovoi! She’s gained control of my. . . my mind!’
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One of Barbara’s mechanical arms shot out and jabbed viciously at the wound in Tiermann’s side. He gave a great cry and collapsed to the metal floor. Barbara roared in triumph and turned to destroy the control panels that were the only hope of escape for the Doctor and his friends.
‘You will not override our will! You must stay here!’ Barbara’s voice was deepening in pitch. It was subsumed by the madness of the Domovoi herself. ‘You will die with us inside the Dreamhome!’
Solin knew that he and his mother couldn’t last very long in the Dust Chamber. Like him, his mother had covered her mouth and nose with her loose sleeves, and she was holding in her breath.
As the two of them wheeled and floated through the dusty, murky air they were both trying not to panic. Solin tried to suck air in without any of the dust, but could feel the dirty particles creeping into his body, and starting to line his throat. . .
The door had clanged shut behind them. Without an ounce of com-punction, the Sukkazz had locked them in. Would the Domovoi be happy now? Now that she knew they were stuck here for ever? They’d be dead, but they would be still at home, and that was all that mattered to the Domovoi.
Silently, despairingly, Solin cursed his father’s own creations.
All he could do was hope that the Doctor would do something. He had faith in Martha, and Martha believed in the Doctor.
Solin grasped his mother’s arm and started propelling them back towards the exit. It was like fighting their way through woolly fog. A horrible dry kind of mist that clung to them and coated them thickly.
They tried swimming through the air to the door. Perhaps he could find some way of opening it from the inside. . .
One thing was certain. Solin wasn’t giving up yet.
The Doctor came to stand right in front of Barbara.
He had dealt with this kind of situation before. ‘Barbara, I know you’re still in there,’ he said. ‘I know that the Domovoi can’t have taken complete control of your personality.’
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He glanced around at the others. Martha and Toaster looked worried and horrified respectively. Tiermann was scrabbling to stand up, his wound seeping a curious mixture of oil and blood. If only the Doctor could keep Barbara talking. Surely he could inch around, slowly, slowly. . . he could distract her and get to the black override button.
He could dart forward and put the Domovoi out of action. . .
But Barbara was standing right in the way. She was powerful and rigid, with her hydraulic arms in the air, ready to lash out at anyone who stepped out of line. The Doctor knew she could fetch him a hefty slap. She could rip his head off, easy as blinking. He swallowed hard
– calculating distances, totting up his chances. He kept still. Still and careful. Ready to spring.
‘Barbara, please. Listen to me. I am the Doctor, remember. I came to save you. You and Toaster. I went all the way down to the bottom of the Dreamhome, and I brought you out safely. Will you really turn against me, Barbara?’
Barbara’s eyes were blazing with the sure manic frenzy of the Domovoi’s control. But something in her responded to the Doctor. They heard her electronic innards wheezing and clinking with dismay, and a kind of inner torment. ‘I can’t resist it, Doctor! She is telling me what to do! I must. . . destroy the override controls!’
‘Nonononono, Barbara!’ the Doctor gabbled. ‘You are your own woman! And you can make your own choices!’
‘Ch-choices?’ warbled the vending robot.
‘Choices!’ grinned the Doctor, manically. ‘You love choices, don’t you, Barbara! Of course you do! You’re a vending machine. You offer people choices all the time! That’s what you do! Crisps or pop?
Milk or dark chocolate? Diet or full fat? That’s what you’re all about!
Choices!’
‘Free will?’ she asked.
‘Exactly! And you’ve got to resist the Domovoi!’ The Doctor was moving closer to Barbara all the time, slowly but surely, convinced that he was winning her over. He was still wary of those powerful hands of hers, which flexed spasmodically. They were ready to crumple his skull like a drink can at any given moment.
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Tiermann spoke up then, huskily, and almost ruined it all. ‘Barbara, the Doctor is right. Please. . . help us. Help me override the Domovoi.
Help me regain control of the Dreamhome, before it is too late. . . ’
‘You,’ Barbara grated crossly. ‘You have controlled too much, for too long. Ernest Tiermann. You are a tyrant! A monster!’
Tiermann drew himself painfully up to his full height. ‘I will not be addressed like that by a mere machine!’
‘Shut up!’ Martha yelled at him. ‘Can’t you see? You’re ruining it.’
Toaster shoved Tiermann back against the wall. ‘Let Barbara think.
Give her room. She’s being very brave. Standing up to the Domovoi.
She’s a brave girl. A very good girl. She won’t do us harm, will you, Barbara?’
‘Harm?’ said the vending robot. ‘Me? Cause harm. . . ?’
‘That’s right,’ said the Doctor, coaxingly. ‘You know we are your friends, don’t you?’
‘Doctor,’ said Barbara. ‘Your ship. You said you have a ship. You said that you would help us. Those of us whom Tiermann intends to abandon.’ She was squeezing out her words with a great effort.
Everything inside her was quivering with exertion.
‘Yes, my ship,’ the Doctor said, encouragingly. ‘The TARDIS! I’ll take you to the TARDIS! As many of you robots as I can. That’s what I’ll do. We can do it, Barbara! We can save the day! But. . . you have to trust me.’
‘Trust you, Doctor. . . ’ said Barbara hollowly.
‘I don’t blame you for not wanting to trust any softbody ever again,’
said the Doctor winningly. ‘But you must. You must do as I say. Switch off the Domovoi’s control. Just for as long as it takes for us to rescue the others and get out of the Dreamhome. Please, Barbara.’
‘Do it,’ Martha urged. ‘Do it for the Doctor! We’ll take you away from here. Away before the Voracious Craw gets here. . . ’
Barbara looked at them pleadingly. ‘You can really rescue us? You can take us to the safety of the spaceport Antelope Slash Nitelite?’
The Doctor nodded slowly. ‘I give you my solemn vow.’
Barbara’s metal hands quivered on the air. ‘I can do it! I can stop her!’
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One hand slammed down on the black control button.
Everyone held their breath.
All around them, the air grew quieter and somehow less charged.
The energy went out of the place: that was the only way Martha could put it to herself. She looked at the others quizzically, ‘Has she done it?’
The Doctor nodded tersely, swiftly examining the instrument panels. ‘She’s shut down the Domovoi. Suspended her. The Domovoi has gone into shock.’
Tiermann was similarly checking out the controls. ‘This has never happened before. I can’t be exact. . . but we haven’t got long. A matter of minutes. And then the Domovoi will regain control of the Dreamhome. But. . . ’ And here his voice rose in triumph. ‘For now I am back in control! The Dreamhome is mine to command!’
The Doctor glared at him with bitter irony. ‘We’d best get a move on, hadn’t we? Up to the Dust Chamber, rescue your family. And then to the rooftop. Come on!’
Tiermann’s eyes were glittering and crazy, Martha thought. But he jumped into action. Her heart was beating an excited tattoo. They had done it. They were getting out!
Toaster was patting the exhausted Barbara on her square back. She was leaning heavily against the far wall. The Domovoi’s frozen mind had receded and now Barbara was her old self again. But she was quaking with terror.
‘Well done, old thing!’ Toaster cried cheerily, as the others started hurrying out of the override room. ‘I was so proud of you! You were magnificent, my dear!’
But Barbara was still looking worried. ‘But what happens. . . when the Domovoi comes back to life?’ she whispered. ‘What in the world is she going to do then?’
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Theyknewsomethinghadhappenedbecausethemisthadstartedto clear.
That thick, cloying murk was separating and falling away in strands.
Somehow gravity was reasserting itself. Pale yellow light was filtering through the Dust Chamber.
They dropped heavily to the metal floor and the impact winded them, but then Solin yelled out in triumph: ‘They’ve done it! Somehow they’ve saved us!’
Mother and son huddled together as the thick dust settled on them in soft heaps. ‘Mother, we need to get out now. Can you make it?
Otherwise we’re going to be buried alive in all this filth. . . ’
She nodded urgently and together they found the door again. As he struggled with the bulky mechanisms of the bolts, Solin was thinking furiously. Would the Sukkazz still be out there? Had he and his mother really been rescued, or had the Dust Chamber stopped functioning simply because the whole Dreamhome was failing?
Perhaps they would emerge from this deadly situation, only to face a far worse one outside. . .
But there was only one way to find out, he thought, shoving aside the last heavy bolt and thrusting open the vault door. Out there the air 107
was fresh, clean and slightly fragranced. When they toppled into the corridor the two of them spent a little time sucking in that immaculate oxygen.
‘I thought we were going to die in there,’ his mother said. She was ashen grey and streaked with foul dust. Solin got a shock when he turned to look at her. She already had the look of a thin and colourless spectre.
‘It’s all right now,’ he said, futilely brushing the dirt off his plastic clothes. ‘We’re going to get out of this mess, Mother, I just know it.
We aren’t destined to die here on Father’s world.’
A glimmer of hope brightened his mother’s deathly visage. For the first time in ages she cracked a smile. ‘I think you could be right, Solin. We have to get out of this dreadful place. We have to hope that we can continue with our lives. . . ’ Her expression hardened. ‘It’s your father who has placed us in all this danger. His hubris and pride.
He has just about doomed us. . . in this automated. . . mausoleum of his.’ There was no mistaking the sourness of her tone. ‘What was I thinking of? Letting him lock us up in here – in this awful death t rap?
We were like specimens. . . like tame beasts in some kind of luxurious zoo. . . ’
She was shuddering with horror as Solin hugged her. She went on:
‘And you, Solin. All of your life has been lived in this artificial. . . this utterly fake Dreamhome. . . ’
He struggled to placate her. ‘I’ve been OK, Mum. I’ve been happy enough. . . ’
‘It isn’t a proper life. It’s not real. All of it is artificial,’ she said softly. ‘I should have had the courage to take you away from here.
Away from him. A long time ago.’
‘No, Mother,’ he said. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself. Come on, now.
We’ll get away. We can start our lives again, elsewhere. . . ’
She looked around at the narrow, gleaming corridor. Solin could see that she was looking around with a kind of dread. ‘This place hasn’t killed us yet,’ she said, her voice thick with tears. ‘But neither has it allowed us to live. . . ’
∗ ∗ ∗
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When they reached the lifts on Level Minus Twelve, Solin and Amanda were amazed to discover that they were in full working order. And what was more, one of the cars was approaching their level.
‘I don’t understand,’ Amanda said, her voice rising in hope. ‘It’s as if the influence of the Domovoi has receded. Or she has somehow relented. . . ’ Amanda glanced around nervously. On their way to the lifts they had seen no sign of the Sukkazz, or indeed any of the other Servo-furnishings. Amanda slumped against the wall as they waited for the lift to arrive. She wasn’t used to this much stress and exercise.
She felt as if her whole body was giving up.
But she knew that she had to be strong and determined still: for the sake of her son.
Solin was thoughtful, one ear cocked, listening to the hidden and mysterious workings of the Dreamhome. All at once he guessed what had happened. ‘Father and the others! They have made it to the override room! Don’t you see, mother? They must have actually managed to close down the Domovoi. . . ’ A wild excitement surged through him. ‘We can get up to the rooftop. We can get to our ship!’ He was pacing about. ‘Now we can blast off and leave this planet in time. If the Domovoi really is out of action. . . ’ He stared at the display lights that told them the lift car was approaching their level from deep underground.
‘But. . . how long, though?’ Amanda whispered. ‘How long can they keep the Domovoi restrained?’
She knew how fiercely powerful Tiermann’s masterpiece was.
Years ago, as her husband made the technological breakthroughs which allowed him to build the Domovoi, Amanda had endured months of his swaggering bravado and showing off. To hear Ernest speak, back then, you would have thought he had invented and created some wholly new form of miraculous life. And perhaps he had.
Amanda could recall feeling disconcerted by the wild and somewhat unhinged claims that her husband had made. His bragging had known no bounds.
‘The Domovoi is a goddess, Amanda,’ he had cried, on the day that the super-computer came online. ‘She has the omnipotence and the 109
brilliance of a god. And yet she is our servant, Amanda. We have taken a god and put her into our basement. And now we can instruct her to do my. . . our. . . bidding!’
Such had been Tiermann’s arrogance back in the day. As Amanda and Solin waited for the lift car – and the minutes of precious reprieve were ticking by – Amanda was thinking dark thoughts. Ernest has brought this terror down on our heads. My husband has caused all of this disaster. And then a startling thought came to her: He has blasphemed against the Domovoi.
She shook her head, to stop herself thinking in this crazy manner. She had lived in the Dreamhome too long, and its workings had seeped into her brain. It was almost as if she, too, was under its control. Could Amanda really settle elsewhere, now? On another world?
Then the lift arrived.
Its doors swooshed smoothly open, to reveal that – startlingly – the car was filled almost to capacity with their friends and family.
The Doctor sprang out into the corridor, coat tails flapping, and he gathered Amanda and Solin up into a huge, gangly hug. ‘We though
t you’d been vacuumed to death!’ he yelled. ‘We thought you’d been dust-busted!’
‘We were!’ Solin laughed. ‘Look at the state of us! We were shoved in the Dust Chamber. . . ’
‘Never mind! It doesn’t matter now! Tell us everything later,’ the Doctor said, coughing at the dust he had disturbed by hugging his friends.
‘We don’t have long,’ Martha said urgently. ‘The Domovoi is out of action. . . ’
‘It’s definitely down?’ gasped Solin. ‘We thought so. Did you do it?’
‘We all did it,’ said the Doctor.
‘But we have to get a shift on,’ Martha said. ‘There’s only minutes left. . . ’
At that moment Solin turned to see Amanda watching Tiermann stepping out of the lift. Her husband looked very pale and wan. He nodded to his wife and son very stiffly. No frenzied hugs of relief 110
and joy there, then. Tiermann had always been rather cold with his family. It was only now, comparing his behaviour with that of these new friends, that Solin could see just how remote his father was. How chilly and aloof he was. Solin was starting to think that his father was a weird and messed-up old man.
Tiermann was stooping and evidently in some pain. ‘This elevator will take us to the rooftop,’ he said. ‘Come along.’
Behind him Toaster and Barbara were ensconced in the lift car. To Solin’s eyes the robots seemed a bit embarrassed and awkward, as if they weren’t sure they were supposed to be here. And that’s exactly how they were feeling, too. The robots were certain they had no place amongst those being rescued from the Dreamhome.
As everyone crammed themselves into the lift, Solin heard his mother ask his father: ‘You are in pain. Are you all right, Ernest?’
‘Superficial pain,’ Tiermann growled at her. ‘Mere bodily pain. The greater pain. . . is in witnessing the death throes of my masterpiece.
The child of my genius. The grief lies in having it turn against me. In betraying it and being forced. . . to watch it die.’
The Doctor overheard this and tutted loudly. He patted Tiermann heartily on the back. ‘Oh, cheer up, Ernie matey! Never mind! I’m sure you can start up again somewhere else. But maybe next time, why not make your super-computer a bit less. . . um, bonkers and deadly, eh?’ The Doctor, chuckling, programmed the lift to whizz them up the top thirteen floors.