Doctor Who: Mission to the Unknown

by John Peel

  ‘You worry too much,’ Roald answered. ‘The next one’s Five Zero Alpha, and it’s not for another twenty minutes.’ After a moment, he added: ‘Well? What about 403?’

  Giving in, Lizan called out to the computer: ‘Bring up 403.’ To Roald, she said: ‘Five Zero Alpha? Was that the patrol out looking for Marc Cory?’

  ‘Yes.’ Roald grinned, to prove he’d been keeping up on the weekly briefing sessions. ‘The agent who disappeared near the planet Kembel. Probably crashed, so they think. Lots of space junk in that system.’

  The screen had come to life as the computer locked into the broadcast frequency selected. The news show was already under way, obviously. On the screen, news anchor Jim Grant’s face smiled, and asked a question that was lost. The picture then cut across to the man he was interviewing, Mavic Chen.

  Even the cynical Roald had to admit that Chen was impressive. The Guardian was over six feet tall when he stood. He was sitting now, so as not to dwarf Grant, and even at ease, the man possessed the coiled strength of a wild animal. His trim, muscular body was covered with a light-coloured tunic, which had a darker pattern woven across his chest. Chen’s face showed signs of an oriental ancestry, but much mixed with other races. His white hair was close-cropped, and his beard gave him an air of dignity. His eyes were deep blue, almost hypnotic as he stared out of the screen. When he spoke, his voice betrayed no signs of age, and his tones were deep, clear and precise.

  ‘The mineral agreements with the Draconian Empire proved to be a little more complicated than at first expected,’ he finished, obviously closing a previous question.

  Grant smiled at him and the home audience. ‘And now that it’s concluded so successfully, I’m certain that no one will begrudge you a little time off. What are you going to do on this trip?’

  ‘That I am keeping a secret,’ Chen announced. ‘I hope to be able to get away from all interviewers.’ Grant gave a polite laugh, to show that he was not insulted. Chen smiled slightly, to show that he hadn’t really intended to give an insult. ‘So I’m just going to climb aboard my Spar and drift about the Solar System.’

  Roald whistled in envy. ‘That’s what I call a vacation! If I had to travel around in outer space, I’d take one of those 740s. Elegant, luxurious, plus the ultimate in technology.’

  Lizan snorted, good-naturedly. ‘It hasn’t got the speed.’

  ‘Speed,’ Roald answered haughtily, ‘isn’t everything.’ He was warming to his subject now; Lizan suspected he watched too many commercials. ‘All the comforts you can imagine, almost silent engines – the yacht even has a small laboratory, in case anything goes wrong while it’s out there in space. Food machines designed by French chefs...’

  ‘And an advertising campaign aimed at billionaires,’ she finished, with a laugh. ‘You’ll never be able to afford a Spar !’

  ‘I can dream, can’t I?’

  Throughout this exchange, neither of them saw the little blue light on the chart begin to flash again, urgently. Their attention was firmly rooted elsewhere.

  On the screen, the interview was clearly drawing to a close. ‘Is there anything you’d like to say to the citizens at home before you depart?’ Grant asked, knowing full well that no politician could resist an invitation like that. Chen didn’t disappoint him.

  Leaning forward, to gaze intently, yet caringly, at the viewers, the most powerful man in the Solar System began: ‘It is my fervent hope that the Solar System may continue along this path of peace, this path that has been made possible by the signing of the Non-Aggression Pact of 3975. Now, in this year of AD 4000, we can feel justly proud of that Pact. May the past twenty-five years prove that they are the dawn of an everlasting peace that will spread throughout the Universe.’ Now, Chen’s intense, fiery voice calmed to sooth the viewers with gentle familiarity. ‘Let us go forward together, secure in the knowledge that life ahead is built on the cornerstone of richer understanding between neighbours, not only of the past and of the present, but of the future. And may it be on this cornerstone – so finely laid – that our society will bring peace, progress and prosperity to each and every one of us.’ Chen sat back, with a slight smile on his face.

  What Grant thought of the inspiring little speech was unreadable through his firm, professional smile. ‘Thank you, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m sure that our viewers throughout the system echo your thoughts.’

  The picture changed, to one of those cute filler items that all news broadcasts feel compelled to include. Lizan turned her attention back to the game and to Roald. ‘Even you must admit that he’s an impressive man.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he agreed. ‘It’s nice to hear his speech... again.’ All politicians ultimately said much the same sort of thing, he knew. Public faces, and all of that.

  Lizan grinned in triumph, and moved her dragon. ‘Checkmate!’ she announced, firmly. Roald stared at the board in disgust, not having seen that move coming at all. Lizan gazed upwards, just as the blue message light winked back to normal. ‘Was that a flash?’ she asked.

  ‘When!’ Roald turned around, but the map was perfectly normal ‘There’s nothing coming through. Nothing ever comes through.’

  Lizan sounded uncertain. ‘I thought I saw one.’

  ‘You’re imagining things.’

  ‘Oh?’ she asked, sharply. ‘So now I’m imagining things?’ It was going to be one of those days...

  ‘I don’t hear anything,’ Vyon finally said.

  ‘Oh?’ Gantry snapped. ‘So now I’m imagining things?’ He held his rifle at the ready, the tubes glowing faintly in the darkness.

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ Vyon replied, trying to calm down his partner. Gantry was an able man, but his injury and their three days of running in this jungle were telling on his nerves. Privately, Vyon was certain that Gantry was imagining things.

  ‘They’re out there,’ Gantry whispered, conspiratorially. ‘I know it. They’re getting closer.’ His eyes darted about, trying to make out something in the gloom. He wiped his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. Both men tensed to listen. Weird cries echoed about them, the normal feeding sounds of the nights of Kembel. Dragging noises... sounds like screaming monkeys... the ticking of insects.. All as it had been for three long, sleepless nights.

  Suddenly, it all stopped, and there was a terrible silence.

  Vyon’s eyes flicked towards his companion, who had gone rigid with fear and apprehension. Licking his lips. Gantry turned to face Vyon. Before the man could speak, Bret put a finger to his own lips, and softy drew his pistol. Tensely, they waited for long, agonizing seconds.

  The crack of a branch being broken sounded like an explosion. Both men swivelled to face the direction it had come from

  ‘There!’ Gantry gasped. ‘There – you heard it!’

  ‘I heard it,’ Vyon agreed, softly. ‘Come on. We’re going to get out of here.’ He looked down at Gantry, who made no effort to move. ‘Well, come on.’

  Swallowing what little moisture there was left in his mouth, Gantry shook his head. Puzzled, Vyon dropped to one knee beside him. ‘Look,’ he said, calmly, ‘what’s the matter with you? You know we can’t fight those things. Our firepower won’t even scratch them. Our only chance is to hide.’ He started to reach out to offer Gantry his support in rising. Gantry batted down his hand.

  ‘How can I move with this?’ he asked, bitterly gesturing to his shattered leg. ‘Have you got any other bright ideas? If I try to go stumbling through the darkness, I’ll just run into one of those spiked plants. I nearly fell on one before.’ He shuddered at the memory. Anything was better than that!

  ‘We won’t go far,’ Vyon wheedled. ‘We’ll just keep moving. I’ll make sure we avoid the varga plants.’

  ‘No, I’ll hit one!’ Gantry was being consumed by his terrors now, and he was shaking at the thought. ‘We both know what happens then... that could be what happened to Cory, couldn’t it? He tripped... pricked himself on a thorn... and then... then turned slowly into one of those
varga plants.’ He shuddered.

  Vyon sighed. ‘You’re letting your imagination run riot again. Besides, we’ve not seen any varga plants that look like him. Perhaps they took him prisoner.’

  Gantry laughed at the ludicrous thought. ‘You know they don’t take prisoners!’

  ‘All the more reason for you to come with me, then,’ Vyon finished logically. ‘Come on.’

  Gantry shook his head firmly. ‘No! This is no time for phoney heroics. I’ll just slow you down, and we’ll both be killed. Without me, you’ve got a chance – not a good one, but a chance. Just stay alive until you get that message through.’

  Vyon knew that his companion was correct, but he simply couldn’t abandon Gantry. Instead of agreeing, he tried to put an arm around the man. ‘I’m not going without you,’ he said, firmly.

  The other man shoved him violently away, then whipped up his rifle, holding it trained on Vyon. ‘Keep your hands off me,’ he said, savagely. ‘Now get out. Go on, get out of here, or I swear I’ll kill you now.’

  Bret stood slowly up, looking down into Gantry’s eyes. The agent had been tipped over the brink by all his pain, his terrors, his imaginings and his brave decision to sacrifice his life. He was in a mood where he might very well shoot Vyon. Without a word, Bret walked over to the transmitter, and bent to sling it over his shoulder. Then, back to his partner, he walked towards the jungle.

  ‘Bret.’ Vyon turned, and Gantry gave a half-smile. ‘Good luck.’

  Vyon could find nothing to say; both of them knew that Gantry was going to die, buying a little time in the hope that Bret might get his message through to warn the Earth. Finally, Bret nodded, and drifted silently into the jungle.

  Gantry let out a long sigh of pent-up breath. He was still shaking from fear, and it had cost him all of his reserves to flash even that half-smile. He shuffled across to a small rock, and used it to steady his rifle on. He flicked his filthy hair from his eyes, and scanned the jungle in vain, waiting. ‘All right,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I’m ready for you now. Come and get me.’ The jungle stayed silent and still. Wildly, Gantry looked around. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he called, louder this time. ‘I know you’re out there!’ Still there was no response. ‘Come and get me!’ he yelled at the top of his lungs.

  Finally, one of the bushes trembled, showing that there was movement behind it. Gantry’s finger tightened on the rifle’s trigger, and he began to fire crazily into the bushes. After a moment, the gun stopped. Gantry swore, and glanced down at it. Empty...

  Wiping his sweating palms on his good leg, he reached into a breast pocket, and with trembling fingers, he with-drew another clip for the rifle. It took him three attempts to discard the old one and fit the replacement, since he dared not take his eyes off the jungle for a second.

  There was another sound of movement, this time from behind him. Slowly, he began to turn, as a shape emerged from the blackness. A half-scream managed to begin, deep in his throat, cut off as the Dalek fired at him. For a second, his body glowed and twitched, then fell lifeless across the rock and his useless rifle.

  A second Dalek glided out from the bushes. It scanned the area, then switched to infra-red. Its eye-stick now picked up footprints leading away into the jungle. ‘One man still lives,’ the Dalek intoned to its companion. ‘Find and destroy!’

  ‘I obey!’ The second Dalek slid into the jungle, following the faint but betraying heat trail after Bret Vyon.

  The first Dalek swivelled its head, scanning the small clearing. Seeing nothing else of interest, it too moved off, but in the opposite direction. Once it had gone, the noises of the night began again, timidly at first, then more bravely. Eventually, almost an hour later, one of the hungrier animals ventured towards the corpse in the clearing, wondering if this alien creature would make good eating...

  Chapter 5

  No Ordinary Ship

  Bret Vyon fled through the night as fast as he dared. The bushes for the most part were innocuous, but if he should run into one of the varga plants and touch a thorn.. he didn’t like thinking of the plant’s toxins invading his system and breaking down his body, recreating it as another varga plant. No wonder it had obsessed poor Gantry so! A terrible way to die.

  He was going too fast in the poor light, and his foot caught in a far-flung root. Unable to stop, he crashed to the ground. The transmitter slung over his shoulder took the brunt of the fall, and he heard its delicate circuits and crystals shatter. In horror, all he could do for a moment was to stare at the broken casing. Then, desperately, he struggled into a seated position, and tried to get the radio working again. He tried long after it was obvious that the device was utterly broken. Finally he stopped, and flung the useless box deep into the jungle.

  Now what? He had to get a warning back to Earth. He had to! The Solar System had to be warned what it would be facing very soon. But how could he do that? The only other radio that he knew of was deep within the Dalek complex on Kembel – and as good as he was, he knew he stood no chance at all of getting in there to use it. That left only the possibility of escape. Could there be some way off this world? His own ship was a twisted mass of wreckage in the jungle somewhere. The Daleks’ orbital stations had fired on it, bringing it down. The pilot had died struggling with the controls, buying time for Bret and Gantry to eject. They had seen the ship explode seconds later.

  That left Bret the option of trying the Dalek space-port. The idea of his being able to sneak in there and make off with a Dalek ship was ludicrous. But it was that or nothing. He couldn’t afford to do nothing.

  His bitter thoughts were broken by the weirdest sound he had heard since arriving on this planet. It seemed to rise from nowhere, in a small clearing just off the path. A roaring sound, rising and falling, somehow mechanical... he dashed through the bushes, and stared. The clearing was empty.

  As he watched, however, a light began to shine and spin, and below it a tall box materialized from thin air, gradually getting more and more solid. With a final thump, the noise stopped. The light on the box went out.

  The TARDIS had arrived on Kembel.

  The Doctor wondered where they were. His navigational instruments were in good shape, but he was unsure how to calibrate them. It had never seemed that worthwhile, since he enjoyed his peregrinations normally. Now all he could desperately hope was that this would be a technologically sophisticated world, for Steven’s sake. The Doctor gripped his lapels, glad to be back in his regular attire again. How he hated dressing up in those silly period costumes! His frocked coat, trousers and string tie were much, much more practical.

  Katarina entered the control room from Steven’s quarters. She could see that the altar was not making any strange motions, and the noises had almost all stopped.

  ‘Have we arrived in the Underworld now?’ she asked.

  ‘No, no, nothing like that, I certainly hope.’ The Doctor reached out and flicked on the scanner. The screen came to life, but it was impossible to make anything out on it. ‘It must be night,’ he muttered to himself. To Katarina, he explained: ‘We are on another world. The people here – if there are people! – will not be as you know them.’

  ‘Can you find help here?’ she asked, simply. Her mind was set on the one problem of curing Steven, and little could distract her.

  ‘I don’t know,’ the Doctor answered, honestly. ‘But I must try. I want you to stay here, and look after Steven. I will be back as quickly as I can.’

  Katarina nodded. ‘I will tend to your priest, Doctor.’

  ‘Splendid.’ He beckoned her over, and smiled encouragingly as she timidly approached the console. ‘Now, you know which switch to pull to close the doors, don’t you?’ He showed her the correct control.

  ‘This stick will cause the doors to close,’ she said, and was pleased when he nodded. ‘I understand the magic.’

  ‘Good. I want you to do that straightaway, after I leave. I have my key to let myself in.’

  ‘Key?’ she ech
oed, puzzled.

  Of course! In her day, they would ‘lock’ the doors with a bar across the inside! He pulled his key from the string around his neck and showed it to her. ‘This, my child. It will open the doors from the outside.’

  Katarina looked from the tiny piece of metal the Doctor held to the huge doors. ‘It must indeed be a mighty talisman to move such large doors with so small a piece of metal.’

  ‘Ah, quite.’ The Doctor had had enough of explanations. Now was the time for action. ‘Remember,’ he admonished her, pointing to the switch, ‘as soon as I am outside close the doors!’

  As Bret watched this strange apparition, the door opened, and a very eccentric-looking person stepped out. His clothing looked as if it had been bought from some costumer of historical video-dramas – checked trousers, long coat, silk scarf... what kind of clothing was that for such a hostile world as Kembal? The old man was twirling a key on the end of a chain, which he then tucked into his pocket.

  Bret slipped silently through the jungle, following the path that the old man was taking. Whether by luck or by judgement, he was heading directly for the Dalek city. Could this man be a Dalek agent, reporting in? Then that weird box might be Bret’s way off-planet. He should be able to overpower this senile old character without any problem...

  The Doctor ground to a halt, peering through the dark vegetation. In the distance, he could see lights. He took out his collapsible binoculars, and used them to scan the area. Several buildings could be made out with their assistance. ‘Ah!’ he muttered with satisfaction. ‘A city.’ He continued his scan, and soon realized that the city consisted of about a dozen tall buildings, clustered about what appeared to be a space-port of sorts. There were a couple of small ships there. Technology! ‘Perhaps it’s more of a town,’ he added to himself. ‘I wonder where we are?’ Well, what did that matter? ‘Perhaps I can get some help... Hmmm, seems strange place to put a city, right in the middle of the jungle. As if they wanted to hide it from prying eyes...’

  Further ruminations were cut off as something rammed hard against his spine. It felt uncomfortably like a gun. In the course of his travels, the Doctor had felt more than his share of guns pressed against his back.