Doctor Who and the Loch Ness Monster
Terrance Dicks
ISBN 0 426 11041 2
* * *
Why is DOCTOR WHO suddenly summoned to the shores of Loch Ness?
Terror and panic spread as the third oil rig is smashed into the sea by a mysterious force... the monster?
The controlling power must be the ZYGONS—alien creatures who have lived hidden on Earth for thousands of years, and now feel strong enough to take over the planet... The Doctor, Sarah and UNIT have different ideas—but can they outwit the supreme cunning of the ruthless ZYGONS?
DOCTOR WHO scripts—awarded The Writers' Guild Award for the best British children's original drama script.
CONTENTS
1 Death from the Sea
2 Murder on the Shore
3 The Zygons Attack
4 A Trap for the Doctor
5 The Sleeping Village
6 The Monster on the Moor
7 Hunt for a Zygon
8 A Visit to the Duke
9 The Secret of Forgill Castle
10 Plan for Conquest
11 Escape!
12 Monster in the Thames
1 Death from the Sea
The oil-rig called 'Bonnie Prince Charlie' towered high above the moonlit sea. Its massive steel legs, set firm in their concrete foundations, seemed to defy the ocean, which lapped almost tamely round the base of the rig. It was a calm, clear night, silent except for the persistent sighing of a chill wind.
In the warmth and comfort of the rig's radio room Jock Munro stretched out in his chair, a mug of rum-laced cocoa in one hand, his radio-mike in the other. He was ordering fresh provisions from the supply base on the Scottish mainland, more for the sake of a chat than because the matter was urgent. 'Hey, and listen, Willie, the blokes say can you rustle up a few haggis and send 'em out with tomorrow's supply helicopter? The cook here's a Sassenach, and he doesna' ken the first thing about them!'
Grinning to himself, he waited for 'Willie to demand how the blanketty-blank he was supposed to find haggis for twenty-odd men at a few hours' notice.
But Willie's reply did not come. The radio went suddenly dead. Jock jiggled controls for a bit, cursed, and tried again. 'This is Charlie Rig to Hibernian Control—are you receiving? I say again, Charlie Rig to Hibernian Control, do you read me?' The only reply was a high-pitched electronic burbling sound.
Suddenly the entire rig shuddered under a tremendous jolt. Munro was thrown out of his chair and sent crashing against the door. As he struggled to his feet, there came a second jolt, and then another. The rig seemed to reel under a series of massive hammer-blows. Munro struggled to the RT set. 'Mayday, Mayday, Hibernian Control and all shipping... the rig is breaking up...'
Another tremendous blow tilted the entire cabin, sending the RT set crashing to the floor. Munro struggled to the door and clambered out on to the catwalk. From all around he could hear the blaring of alarm signals, the shouts and screams of running men. Clinging to a steel girder, he gazed out at the moonlit sea. To his horror, he saw something huge, incredible, rushing through the water towards the rig. As it struck again, the impact sent the whole rig lurching. Munro was torn loose from his girder and sent flying through the air. He struck the water with an impact that knocked the breath from him, and the cold, dark sea closed over his head.
With a strange, wheezing, groaning sound, the blue police box materialised on the bleak windswept hillside. The door opened and three people emerged. First came a very tall man, untidily dressed in a strange assortment of vaguely bohemian-looking garments. A long woolly scarf dangled round his neck and a floppy hat was jammed on the back of a tangle of curly hair. He looked around eagerly, his eyes ablaze with interest. A broad, childlike grin spread over his face at the sight of the wild and unfriendly landscape.
The two who followed from the police box didn't look quite so delighted. The first was a brawny young man, conventionally dressed in blazer and flannels. His handsome face with its square jaw, frank blue eyes, and curly hair, made him look like the hero of an old-fashioned adventure story. The slim, attractive girl who accompanied him shivered in the cold wind, turning up the collar of her jacket.
The young man was Harry Sullivan, the girl Sarah Jane Smith. Both stared accusingly at their companion, that mysterious traveller in Time and Space known only as 'The Doctor'.
Sarah looked startled, 'I thought you said we were returning to Earth.'
The Doctor abandoned his survey of the landscape to give her a look of guileless innocence. 'This is Earth, Sarah.'
'If you say so, Doctor.' She didn't sound too convinced. Suddenly the blue police box winked out of existence. Sarah clutched the Doctor's arm. 'The TARDIS—it's gone.'
The Doctor sighed. The TARDIS—the initials stood for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space—was playing up more and more these days. As fast as he repaired one thing, something else went wrong. 'Thought I'd fixed that fusion plate,' he muttered crossly. 'Must have gone on the blink again. Shan't be two seconds.' He stepped inside the invisible TARDIS and immediately became invisible himself.
Sarah and Harry watched unsurprised. Since beginning their travels through Time and Space with the Doctor they'd seen so many strange things that the odd vanishing trick was nothing special.
Sarah looked again at the windswept landscape. 'I don't care what he says, this isn't Earth.'
Harry said gloomily, 'Probably some benighted planet right on the far edge of the galaxy.' Sarah and Harry knew from experience that the TARDIS's destinations were always unpredictable, though this never seemed to affect the Doctor's cheerful confidence.
The TARDIS reappeared and so did the Doctor. He was wearing a strange-looking bonnet with a bobble on top, and the woolly scarf had been replaced by another, equally long, in a particularly vivid tartan. 'Native dress,' he explained. 'We don't want to attract attention now we're in Scotland.'
'How do you know?' asked Harry suspiciously.
The Doctor breathed deeply of the clear cold air. 'I can smell the tangle of the isles. Besides, I've just checked the co-ordinates. Now why has the Brigadier brought us here?'
Brigadier Alastair Lethbridge-Stewart was head of the British section of UNIT, the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, an organisation of which Harry Sullivan was a member. UNIT was dedicated to protecting Earth from the many attacks and invasions from outer space that had plagued it in recent years. The development of Man's technology to the point where the moon had already been reached, with interplanetary travel an inevitable next step, had attracted the attention of hostile forces throughout the galaxy. Most seemed to consider the Earth an attractive little planet, just ripe for conquest. UNIT had been formed to help Earth protect itself, and the Doctor was supposed to be UNIT's Scientific Adviser. Unfortunately, he hated being tied down to one place or time, and his habit of disappearing on prolonged trips round the galaxy was a constant source of aggravation to the Brigadier.
Just before this latest trip, the two had reached a compromise. The Doctor had given the Brigadier a recall device, which could signal to the TARDIS whenever, and wherever it happened to be; he had also given his promise to return to Earth whenever the signal was used.
Watched by Harry and Sarah, the Doctor produced a compass-like device from his pocket. He flipped open the lid, revealing a directional needle quivering over a multi-coloured dial. 'Well, he's still signalling on the syonic scale. All we have to do is keep the needle in the green sector and it'll lead us to him. Follow me!'
Tartan scarf blowing in the wind, the Doctor set off down the hill-side. Sarah and Harry followed. Despite all the Doctor's assurances they were quite prepa
red to come across anything from a Dalek to a dinosaur.
What they did meet was considerably more prosaic. The track joined up with a narrow country lane, and after consulting his syonic compass the Doctor led them along it. A few moments later they heard the sound of an engine, and a muddy shooting brake appeared on the road behind them. As it came up to them, it stopped. The driver was an authoritative-looking old fellow in country tweeds. He spoke in a clipped, upper-class voice, with just a suggestion of a Highland lilt somewhere underneath. 'Might I offer you a lift?'
The Doctor took a quick look at his compass. 'Well, you do seem to be going our way. It's extremely kind of you.'
'Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?'
'Forgive me. This is Sarah Jane Smith, this is Harry Sullivan, and I'm the Doctor.'
The driver of the shooting brake gave a stiff nod. 'I am the Duke of Forgill. Would you like to get in?'
The Doctor climbed in beside the Duke, and Sarah and Harry piled in the back.
As they drove down the lane, the Doctor said, 'I wonder if you could tell me where we are?'
'You're just outside the village of Tulloch.'
'And Tulloch is...?'
The Duke looked at him curiously. 'In the highlands of Scotland, of course. As a matter of fact, we're quite close to Loch Ness.'
Sarah noticed a lumpy tarpaulin-covered object in the area behind the back seat. From under the tarpaulin a glassy eye stared at her. She lifted the cloth a little, then smiled. The covered object was a stuffed stag's head, mounted on a wooden plaque.
Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart was not a happy man. The landlord of Tulloch village inn had resented having his parlour commandeered by UNIT for their temporary H.Q. He was retaliating by constant practice on the bagpipes. The noise had already given the Brigadier a headache. Now a very angry oil-company executive called Huckle was pounding the table and shouting at him. The Doctor still hadn't appeared, though his signalling device was bleeping away in the corner. To crown it all, the Brigadier was beginning to have second thoughts about his decision to celebrate his return to the land of his ancestors by wearing the kilt. He had a shrewd suspicion that he looked ridiculous. Benton and the rest of the men were just a little too straight-faced whenever they glanced at him.
The Brigadier winced as Huckle's fist thumped the table yet again. 'Three rigs gone in a month. My company's losing millions.'
'I assure you, Mr Huckle, the Government is as concerned as you are.'
'If this keeps up there won't be a man willing to work out there...' Huckle broke off as a particularly loud wail from the bagpipes drowned his words. 'Do we have to put up with that hullaballoo?'
A tall soldier in the uniform of a Warrant Officer entered the little parlour. The Brigadier turned to him thankfully.
'Mr Benton, any news of the Doctor?'
'Sorry, sir. Not a thing.'
Huckle scowled at the interruption. 'Who's the Doctor then?'
'Our Scientific Adviser. He ought to have materialised by now.'
The Brigadier glanced at the Doctor's calling device. 'Is this thing still working, Benton?'
'Far as I know, sir.'
A further shuddering wail from upstairs made the Brigadier put a hand to his temples. 'Mr Benton, please see if you can prevail upon our host to practice the bagpipes when we are out.'
Benton grinned and turned to leave. At the window he paused. 'Look sir, there's the Doctor now!'
As Benton left the room the Brigadier looked out of the window to see the Doctor, Sarah and Harry climbing out of a muddy shooting brake. He turned to Huckle. 'Who's that at the wheel?'
Huckle scowled. 'That is the Duke of Forgill. Owns pretty well everything around here, except our shore base. He doesn't care for us one little bit.'
Seconds later the Doctor breezed into the room, Sarah, Harry and the Duke trailing behind. The Brigadier tried to conceal his relief at seeing him again. 'Welcome back, Doctor,' he said curtly.
The Doctor, who had no inhibitions about showing his feelings, slapped the Brigadier on the back, shook him warmly by the hand and said, 'Hello, Brigadier, hello. I say, I do like the local garb. Suits you, you know, suits you very well.' He gazed admiringly at the Brigadier's kilt.
The Brigadier harrumphed, and said, 'Thank you, Doctor,' in an embarrassed way.
Sarah kept her face straight with a mighty effort. She didn't dare Iook at Harry.
'This is His Grace the Duke of Forgill,' she said. 'He very kindly gave us a lift.'
The Duke acknowledged the Brigadier's greeting with formal politeness, but it was obvious that the oil man was the one who really interested him. 'I'm glad to have found you here, Mr Huckle,' he said grimly. 'It's saved me a trip to your base. I'm afraid I have to complain once more about the behaviour of the roughnecks who work for you. They've been trespassing on my property again, and poaching too!'
Huckle reddened with anger but controlled himself with an effort. Unfortunately, he knew there was probably some truth in the Duke's charges. The men who worked for him were a tough, hard-bitten lot. If they fancied a bit of shooting or fishing on their days off, they weren't likely to let a few antiquated game laws stand in their way. 'I'm sorry to hear that, your Grace,' he spoke with forced politeness. 'My men have been warned. If any of them are caught, they'll be discharged immediately.'
'Then let me add a warning of my own. If my game-keeper finds any of your men trespassing, they won't be prosecuted—they'll be shot. And I assure you that's not idle threat, Mr Huckle.'
Huckle didn't trust himself to reply. He turned to the Brigadier and said, 'I'll be expecting you at the base then, Brigadier,' and marched out of the room.
The Duke looked sternly at the Brigadier. 'I trust the army isn't going to help these oil people. Is that why you've been sent here?'
'No, sir: We're part of a special investigation team.'
'Investigating what?' There was a kind of unconscious arrogance in the Duke's voice. He and his family have ruled here for so long, thought Sarah, they can't imagine things changing.
The Brigadier's reply was respectful but firm. 'I'm afraid I can't disclose that, sir. Our mission is of a rather confidential nature.'
'My family,' said the Duke coldly, 'has served Scotland for well over seven centuries. That doesn't seem to count for much today. I'll leave you to your official secrets.' With a nod of farewell he stumped off. They heard him calling out, 'Angus, where are you, man? I've a wee gift for you in the boot of my car. Come and help me carry it!'
'Odd sort of chap,' remarked the Brigadier. 'Bit medieval in his ideas.'
'Well, at least he's a man of conviction,' said the Doctor. He suddenly remembered his grievance. 'Now then, Brigadier, why did you bring me back? I trust you have a good reason!'
The Brigadier gave him a brief report of the trouble off the Scottish coast. Recently, a large number of off-shore oil-rigs had been set up to drill for North Sea oil. In the past few weeks three of them had been totally destroyed, smashed into the sea by some incredible force.
The Doctor gazed at the Brigadier indignantly. 'Just a minute, Brigadier, just a minute! Do you mean to say you've dragged me back seventeen million miles for this? When I left you the syonic beam I expressly said it was only to be used in an emergency.'
'Doctor, this is an emergency!'
'Oil, an emergency?' said the Doctor disdainfully. 'It's high time this planet ceased to be so dependent on a mineral slime. If you ask me...'
'Just one moment!' There was an edge to the Brigadier's voice that silenced even the Doctor. 'It isn't only a question of the oil, though I won't deny that's important. These rigs carry a large crew. So far three rigs have been destroyed—and there have been no survivors. Don't you think we ought to solve this mystery before more men die?'
For a moment the two men glared at each other, while Sarah and Harry stood forgotten, holding their breath. Then the Doctor spoke in a very different tone. 'Yes, of course,' he said. 'You were qui
te right to send for me.'
One thing about the Doctor, thought Sarah, he never bothered about saving face. When he was wrong he admitted it, and went on from there.
The Doctor rubbed his hands together briskly and looked round the room. 'Right then,' he said. 'Where do we start?'
2 Murder on the Shore
They started, after a large and filling lunch, with a visit to the shore base of the oil company. This was a small cluster of ultra-modern buildings, huddled together on a bleak stretch of Scottish coast-line. Mr Huckle was obviously overjoyed to see them, if only because it gave him a chance to discuss his worries. In a bright, luxurious, centrally-heated office, lined with wall charts and cluttered with communications equipment, he showed them the medical reports on the bodies taken from the sea after each disaster. It was a grim story.
'Exposure and drowning,' said Huckle, passing a batch of reports over to Harry Sullivan. 'Same cause of death each time.'
Harry Sullivan, who had been a Naval doctor before joining UNIT, skimmed rapidly through the reports. 'No signs of violence?'
'A few minor injuries, but that's all. Nothing that couldn't have been caused by the sea itself.'
'Where are the bodies now?'
Huckle grimaced, 'Most of them are still in the local mortuary.'
Harry shuffled the papers together. 'I'd like to take a look at them, if I may. And I'll need a chance to study these reports in more detail. It may take a little time.'
The Brigadier said briskly, 'Very well, Sullivan, you cut along. We'll see you back at H.Q.'
As Harry began to leave, Sarah said, 'Wait Harry, I'll come with you as far as the village. I'll interview some of the local people, see if they know anything they're not telling.' Sarah was an experienced journalist, and knew that however closely guarded the secret, there was usually someone willing to drop a hint or two, if only to show their own cleverness. If the village people did know anything about what was going on, Sarah was sure she could ferret it out.
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