Doctor Who BBCN13 - Sting of the Zygons

by Doctor Who

  Martha’s eyes widened. ‘You think you can use that stuff to capture the Skarasen?’

  Victor frowned. ‘It’s the Beast of Westmorland we’re after, m’dear!

  And after a good search of the woods, we came across eyewitnesses who actually saw it submerge in Wolvenlath Mere.’

  ‘I think I might have been one of them,’ the Doctor murmured. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, one of the chaps served with the Royal Miners and Sappers, and he’s got a pile of diving gear – suit, pump and twelve-bolt hel-met. We can take it in turns to probe the secrets of the mere, find the blessed thing’s watery lair. . . ’ Victor was quite flushed with excitement. ‘That achieved, we simply excavate a suitably big pit, rouse the Beast from its slumbers, and drive it into the hole with heavy gunfire.’

  The Doctor looked horrified. ‘You know, ordinarily I’m quite good with wild, insanely improvised plans with no thought for personal safety. But this, Victor. . . this is off the scale. That thing will kill all of you.’

  ‘Not so!’ Victor lowered his voice confidentially. ‘Lady Morton informs me there are crates full of wire rope and heavy-duty chains stored in that barn too. We can pin the Beast to the ground. Old Haleston even says he’ll hire the gear, so Lady M will receive much-needed funds. It’s a gift! It’s. . . fate!’

  ‘Or fatal,’ said the Doctor, hands thrust into his coat pockets, as deep as they would go. ‘By the way, was Claude Romand filming your lot 76

  this morning?’

  ‘Yes, he tracked us down in the end,’ said Victor, grinning. ‘Singled me out for a shot of my own, said I cut quite a dashing figure.’

  ‘Martha needs to see him urgently.’

  Martha reacted. ‘I do?’

  ‘You do!’ the Doctor agreed. ‘So Victor, could you take her back to Wolvenlath with you?’

  ‘I’ve no idea if he’s still there, and it’s certainly not the safest place for a young filly to be. . . ’ Victor smiled. ‘But how could I resist a drive in the sunshine with so pleasant a companion?’

  Martha waited till he’d crossed to the crank handle at the front of the car before pretending to make herself sick. She drew close to the Doctor and spoke in a low voice. ‘What urgent business? What’re you playing at?’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about your horse,’ he said. ‘I’ll persuade Jack the stable-boy to put him up in comfort here for a bit.’ He pulled some crisp, large notes from his pocket. ‘See? Took some money from the TARDIS. Right year and everything. Oh, yeah! Don’t say I can’t do practical.’

  ‘But why aren’t you coming?’

  He shrugged. ‘The activator’s still recharging. Could take another few hours, at least. I need to use that time to try and adapt it. See if I can use it not only to summon the Skarasen, but to plant suggestions in its little cyborg brain.’

  Martha nodded. ‘Suggestions like “Clear off and don’t come back".

  But why can’t I stay with you? What does Claude have to do with anything?’

  ‘He’s just an excuse,’ the Doctor muttered. ‘I want you to gatecrash the hunting party and do anything you can to break it up.’

  ‘What, say I’ve seen Bigfoot round the corner, hide their diving gear, that sort of thing?’

  But the Doctor wasn’t smiling. ‘Those men are playing with fire, not water. If the Skarasen’s hiding in that lake, the Zygon ship could be hidden there too. Provoke them, and. . . ’

  77

  ‘Things could get messy,’ said Martha with a shudder. He nodded.

  ‘On the other hand, if I come galloping along on Arthur with the power to command the Skarasen, there’ll be no killer cyborg milk-cow to worry about – and if the Zygons want their food supply back, they’ll have to listen to my terms.’ The Doctor looked at her urgently. ‘But I must have some time.’

  ‘Ready, my dear?’ Victor called, turning up the collars of his motoring jacket.

  ‘I’ll do all I can,’ Martha told the Doctor. She climbed into the car beside Victor, and just managed a quick wave goodbye before they sped away down the driveway.

  Martha had hoped to avoid driving with Victor again. At least Romand took things quite slowly in his Rover. Victor seemed to revel in taking the turns as quickly as possible, and while she was keen to be out of the car as soon as possible, that didn’t involve flying out through the windscreen.

  They had gone a good few miles when Martha suddenly glimpsed movement through the high hedges in the field beyond.

  A cluster of orange bodies. A wagon hurtling over heather moorland.

  ‘Victor, stop the car,’ she shouted.

  But he was already braking. He’d seen it too. Once the car had stopped, they both jumped out and pushed awkwardly through the brambly hedge.

  ‘Good Lord!’ breathed Victor. . .

  Martha muttered something more colourful under her breath. A terrified-looking black horse with no rider was charging towards them, pulling a carriage that rattled and shook as it bounced over the uneven ground. With a shiver, she recognised it as the carriage she’d seen at the Lodge. Three Zygons clung to the carriage, one attacking the roof, the others tugging on the door as if trying to get inside. Two more were running over the moorland in pursuit.

  It was a surreal scene, and it rooted Martha to the spot. The horse’s ears were flat against its head, its hide strafed with stings and scurf.

  She realised it was the horse that had snapped at her in Mrs D’s sta-78

  bles. And it was showing no signs of getting any friendlier.

  Horse, carriage and Zygons were heading straight for her and Victor.

  79

  Martha grabbed hold of Victor’s hand. ‘Move!’ she shouted. She dragged him back through the tangled hedgerow, the pounding of hooves growing louder all the time. ‘Get in the car!’

  Victor scrambled into the front and Martha dived in the back – as, with a splintering crash, the horse ploughed through the hedgerow and the carriage tried to follow. But it couldn’t. It jammed hard against the dense foliage, tipped over. The horse’s neck snapped back as the reins came up tight. Martha closed her eyes but couldn’t block the animal’s scream or the heavy thud of its body smashing into the carriage.

  Then a loud, metallic thump jolted through Martha as the body of a Zygon bashed down onto the bonnet of the Opel. The creature, thrown clear of the carriage by the collision, raised the fleshy dome of its head and gave a chilling, guttural roar.

  Victor scrambled into the back beside Martha.

  But the Zygon

  seemed uninterested. Its two mates were lying unmoving in the road, but it didn’t bother with them either. It turned back to the carriage –now lying mangled on its side in the hedge with one of its wheels missing – and stepped over the prone body of the horse. Then it started tugging again on the door. The two others she’d seen pursuing the 81

  carriage across the field were still advancing, more slowly now.

  Victor was white-faced. ‘What are those things?’

  ‘Determined,’ breathed Martha. She took a deep, shaky breath.

  ‘Who’s in the coach anyway? Mrs Unswick said a friend of hers was collecting it. . . ’

  ‘Not much we can do. We’d better hot-foot it.’ Victor bunched his fists as the Zygon reached in through the carriage window. ‘If only I had my eight-bore!’

  But suddenly a huge, terrifying dog burst through the hedgerow on the other side of the road, its jaws bared. Martha saw the swelling on its back and realised it was Teazel. Without hesitation, the Mastiff hurled itself at the Zygon, wrenching it away from the window and wrestling it to the ground. Teazel’s dark muzzle tore at the creature’s spongy orange skin, and the Zygon gave a bloodcurdling scream.

  ‘By God, it’s Eddie’s hound!’ Victor declared, a little late in catching on. ‘Where did he spring from? Get them, boy!’

  Leaving his Zygon victim rasping for breath, with an ugly wound in the thick blubbery width of its throat, Teazel charged into the field.<
br />
  Victor turned to Martha and patted her hand. ‘Look away and panic not, my dear –. Teazel will soon see off these brutes.’

  Martha wasn’t so sure. Leaving the car, she crossed cautiously to the hole in the hedge; afraid of what she might see but needing to know how bad things were going to get.

  To her amazement, the Zygons had gone, apparently scared away.

  Teazel stood panting in the field, watched only by a few wary cows.

  Cautiously, Martha turned her attention to the splintered carriage.

  The door was either locked or jammed shut, and so she peered through the broken window. There was no one inside, just a dark, shadowy shape about the size of a cool box. Was that what the Zygons had been after?

  There was further rustling from behind her, on the other side of the road. Turning anxiously, she found Ian trying to wrestle his bike through the foliage.’ The boy’s red cheeks were very nearly the colour of his sweat-soaked hair. As he took in the scene, his eyes widened to the size of saucers.

  82

  ‘You all right, old chap?’ asked Victor, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I was chasing after Teazel,’ he panted, staring round in shock. ‘He started barking over at Goldspur, and I thought he’d found the intruder Miss Jones saw this morning.’

  Victor frowned at her. ‘What intruder?’

  ‘That’s another story,’ Martha told him quickly. ‘What happened, Ian?’

  ‘Well, I went with him to the edge of the grounds, and he was barking at the wall, so I helped him scramble up and over. . . ’ Ian sank to his knees, exhausted. ‘But then Teazel set off ferociously fast, barking loud enough to wake the dead.’

  ‘Going over the wall cuts the distance to reach here,’ Victor realised.

  ‘He must’ve got the scent of these brutes.’ He eyed the bodies in the road with revulsion. ‘First a giant reptile, now these things. Never seen anything like them.’

  ‘Teazel has,’ said Martha. ‘He was stung by one. The Doctor calls them Zygons.’

  Ian advanced cautiously on the one Teazel had savaged. It held its fists to its bloody chest as if fearing an attack. But then its dark eyes glazed over, and a last breath leaked from its lips.

  ‘A score well-settled, Teazel,’ said Victor gravely.

  ‘There’s one that won’t sting you again,’ Martha muttered.

  ‘These Zygons. . . ’ Ian looked at Martha. ‘Was it they who attacked my father?’

  ‘It’s possible.’ Martha caught Victor’s eye guiltily. ‘And that intruder I saw at Goldspur this morning? That was a Zygon too.’

  Victor stared at her. ‘But why didn’t you tell me about this sooner?

  For heaven’s sake, Miss Jones, the ladies are on their own there!’

  ‘It was Lord Haleston’s journal the Zygon was after,’ Martha assured him. ‘I tried to warn Mrs Lunn an intruder was in the house, but she wouldn’t believe me. Would you have believed me before you saw all this?’

  ‘Suppose not,’ Victor admitted. ‘What do they want with us?’ Then he saw Ian pluck something from the hand of the newly dead Zygon.

  83

  ‘Don’t touch it!’ he snapped.

  ‘I – I was only looking,’ said Ian standing back up. He held out his discovery – a lump of gristle roughly in the shape of a dagger. ‘Could this be a weapon?’

  ‘Could be anything,’ said Martha. ‘Didn’t see him holding it before. . . ’

  Suddenly Teazel started barking again, and Martha’s stomach twisted. She quickly looked around to see where the next threat was coming from. She couldn’t see anything – but moments later, a high-pitched whine filled the air. ‘Uh-oh,’ said Martha. ‘Last time I heard that noise. . . ’

  Victor and Ian backed away, as the three dead Zygons in the road glowed with an eerie white light and faded from view.

  ‘Now I’ve seen it all,’ said Victor weakly.

  Martha withdrew to a safe distance, beside Teazel. The wind had dropped, and birdsong whistled from the heather and the hedgerows.

  Only the horse remained now beside the wreck of the carriage, together with dark stains of blood on the road; to anyone else who happened past, there was nothing to suggest this hadn’t been a simple, unpleasant accident.

  Then Teazel suddenly jumped up and bounded away from them, haring across the moorland.

  ‘Teazel!’ Ian bellowed. ‘Come back, boy!’

  ‘He’s got the scent again,’ Victor realised. ‘Perhaps he’s giving chase to the other two we saw?’

  Ian reached for his fallen bicycle. ‘I’ve got to go after him.’

  ‘You can’t.’ Martha stepped in front of him, blocked his way. The giant dog was already vanishing into the distance. ‘It’s way too dangerous.’ She forced a smile. ‘Besides, you saw what he did – he’s the Zygon slayer. He’ll be all right.’

  Ian looked close to tears. He nodded stoically, and turned away.

  ‘I say, the poor horse is still breathing,’ Victor declared. ‘Perhaps he stands a chance of pulling through.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ said Martha. ‘We should telephone for the police to sort things here, as fast as they can.’ She sighed. ‘And tell Mrs Unswick 84

  what’s happened to her horse and her friend’s carriage.’

  ‘We’ll phone from the Lodge then,’ said Victor. ‘With any luck, Monsieur Romand might be at home, too. I can send him off to Wolvenlath with a message for Henry – Call off the hunt! To hell with the Beast of Westmorland and medals from the King, we must search Goldspur’

  grounds and secure the place!’

  Martha approved. That’d get everyone out of the Doctor’s way for sure.

  She allowed Ian to help her up into the back seat of the Opel. He didn’t let go of her hand afterwards, and she gave it a reassuring squeeze.

  Victor started up the car and drove slowly away through the puddles of blood on the muddy, rutted road.

  85

  In the Zygon control room, Analyst Taro watched the black shadows thicken beneath the synchron-response display. Three lives lost for nothing,’ she hissed, and the glow in the walls darkened as if in sym-pathy with her mood. The greedy fools. . . ’

  ‘I will spread the news among the troops,’ said her assistant, Felic.

  ‘Let this violence stand as a stark warning.’

  ‘For how much longer can we survive?’

  Taro slumped heavily

  against the monitoring panels. ‘Brelarn must end this madness swiftly, or else we must all return to the amber sleep. . . ’

  ‘None know this better than Brelarn,’ Felic wheezed loyally. ‘Has he not already turned our greatest peril to our best advantage?’ The Zygon’s eyes were fixed on the image pulsing on the veined scanner screen. It showed a thin, dark-haired man sat alone on a hillside, crouched over an array of electronic parts. ‘We shall not have to sleep away the centuries. Our future victories are assured. Whatever plans this Doctor may have, he is playing into the hands of the Zygons.’

  From a hillside overlooking Kelmore, the Doctor watched through a pair of opera glasses as labourers struggled and strained to load Sir Albert Morton’s construction gear from waterside barn to waiting barge.

  87

  Before long, no doubt, it would be covering the short distance along the Rochdale canal from here to Eskmouth. From there the roads to Wolvenlath would support a trailer wide enough to complete the distance. What a faff!

  The Doctor lowered the glasses. Humans were such determined things, when they thought the cause just enough. He sighed. ‘This just cause will just cause chaos.’

  He turned back to the various tiny mechanisms laid out around the trilanic activator beside him. He had the strange – but not alto-gether unfamiliar – feeling he was being watched. Turning, he found a friendly cow had wandered up behind him.

  ‘Hello!’ he called. ‘Is my activator bothering you?’ He held it up to show her. ‘You poor old cows. Bet this used to be a n
ice, quiet area before all the aliens turned up, didn’t it?’

  The cow eyed him lazily, then lowered its head to graze.

  The Doctor turned back to the sticky Zygon component. ‘Haven’t got far with connecting a command system to the activator cortex, I’m afraid, Daisy. Organic crystallography, I’m always underestimating it. So I can’t tell the Skarasen what to do. . . ’ He picked up a small, delicate construction of wire and miniaturised circuitry and squashed it into the side of the fleshy lump. ‘Luckily, I’m a lot better with augmented delta waves. And if I can modify these circuits so their delta waves transmit on a diastellic wavelength, it should make the Skarasen very, very sleepy.’ He buzzed the sonic at his miniature maze of new circuitry. ‘And hopefully it should stay nice and dozy till I work out how to send it away and leave us all in peace. . . ’

  The cow, unsurprisingly, made no comment, and the Doctor’s gaze drifted to the last of the hoists being packed aboard the barge. ‘Always assuming I can get to the Skarasen before the hunters, anyway. But with the biggest pile of construction gear in the country stored so handily close by. . . ’ He turned back affably to the quietly grazing cow. ‘I’ve heard you should never look a gift-horse in the mouth. But I reckon if Lord Haleston and his chums stopped to look at this one, they’d find a gob full of very pointy teeth. . . ’

  He tailed off as he realised there was someone else watching him, 88

  further up the hillside. A girl with long blonde hair, standing beside a rocky crag that jutted from the grassland.

  She was beckoning him.

  ‘Well, well,’ the Doctor murmured. ‘Molly Melton, the helpful ghost.

  Only you’re no apparition, are you?’ He started towards her, slowly.

  ‘Why don’t you show me what you really are?’

  The girl watched him approach with large, sad eyes.