Doctor Who: The Crawling Terror (12th Doctor novel) (Dr Who)

by Mike Tucker

  ‘Lower the weapon please, sir,’ barked one of them.

  There was a clink of broken glass as the gun barrel was withdrawn through the broken window, and a muffled voice came from inside the house. ‘I’m on your damn side, you know.’

  The soldiers hustled Kevin towards the back door and they all bundled inside.

  ‘Arnopp, Palmer, check the front. Hawkins, upstairs.’ One of the soldiers, obviously the leader, removed his helmet. ‘I’m Captain Wilson. Is there anyone else in the house?’

  Robin Sanford shook his head. ‘Just me and the boy.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Sanford. Robin Sanford. This is Kevin.’

  ‘Alperton.’ Kevin added. ‘My last name’s Alperton.’

  ‘What about earlier? The two on the bike. Who are they?’

  Robin raised an eyebrow. ‘You saw that, eh? Then I guess that it’s you that we have to thank for taking pot shots at that spider.’

  Wilson nodded. ‘Always happy to help. Now, those other two…’

  ‘It was Constable Bevan,’ piped up Kevin. And the Doctor.’

  ‘The doctor? Who’s he? Local GP?’

  ‘Don’t really know,’ said Robin gruffly. ‘Scientist of some kind.’

  Wilson exchanged a glance with one of his men. ‘Mr Sanford. I gather that you were stationed here during the war…’

  ‘That’s right. Home Guard. Would have signed up but I have problems with my chest, see…’

  ‘Sir, I need you to tell me everything that you can about “Project Big Ben”.’

  Robin Sanford stiffened. ‘What do you know about that?’

  ‘We have reason to think that someone is trying to recreate those experiments.’

  ‘No!’ Robin shook his head angrily. ‘No, that’s impossible!’

  ‘Sir, our instruments are picking up a very distinctive energy signature from somewhere in this vicinity. Someone is operating a Bell device and I need to find it and destroy it!’ Wilson gestured to one of the chairs. ‘Sit down. Please.’

  Robin hesitated, but Wilson’s expression made it quite clear that he was in no mood for games.

  ‘Please.’

  Robin sat.

  Placing his helmet on the kitchen table, Captain Wilson pulled over a chair and sat facing him. ‘Now, I need you to tell me everything that you know about this machine. And this mysterious Doctor.’

  As Clearfield levelled the service revolver at the Doctor’s forehead, there was a sudden hissing scream, and the crash of metal as all the cages against the far wall of the building opened. At once an angry tide of snapping insects surged across the floor.

  Moments later the lights went out, plunging the entire building into total darkness.

  ‘Doctor! Run!’ shouted Charlie Bevan.

  The Doctor needed no encouragement. As he threw himself to one side there was a deafening explosion as Clearfield’s gun went off. In the brilliant glare of the muzzle flash, the Doctor could see Clara standing stock still in the centre of the techno-circle as huge insects swarmed round her.

  The gun fired again, and the Doctor used the momentary illumination to orient himself. Charlie and Angela were pressed against the far wall, struggling to open one of the fire doors. Clara still hadn’t moved.

  As one of the hybrid insects scuttled towards him, the Doctor darted forward, kicking it out of the way and cannoning into Clearfield, knocking him off balance. As the professor crashed to the floor, the gun went off for a third time, the bullet ricocheting wildly around the metal walkways in the ceiling. Practically on his hands and knees, the Doctor scampered across the floor to the dark, hulking shape of the Bell. He could feel the hair on his arms stand on end with the static that still clung to its surface. Working quickly, and in near darkness, he located an access panel set into the base of the machine and slid it open.

  A pale violet glow washed across his hands. The space inside the base of the Bell was packed with glass tubes, each one holding a glowing, purple liquid. The Doctor hesitated. With no time to make a proper study of the workings of the Bell, he had no idea which components would disable it effectively. More worrying, he had no idea which components might still hold a charge.

  With time rapidly running out, he used the technique that had served him well in so many of his previous incarnations.

  ‘Eeny, meeny, miny…’

  He grasped hold of one of the glass tubes and pulled hard. Wires and pipes tore out of their sockets, and there was a shower of sparks as he wrenched it from its housing. ‘Mo.’

  Stuffing the tube inside his jacket pocket, the Doctor scrambled to his feet. He could still make out the vague shape of Clara in the centre of the circle. He hurried over to her side. ‘Come on!’

  Grabbing her by the hand, he raced across the darkened warehouse to where Charlie and Angela were waiting. As they ran, the double doors suddenly swung open and a shaft of light slashed across the floor. Skittering insects ran for cover as light flooded the room.

  Barely slowing down, the Doctor hurtled out into the daylight, still half dragging Clara behind him. As Charlie and Angela both scrambled out after them, the Doctor released his grip on Clara’s hand, slamming the doors closed behind them and pressing the tip of his sonic screwdriver to the lock. There was a hiss of steam, and a drop of molten metal oozed from the keyhole as the lock was fused into a sold mass.

  Angela shot him a stern look. ‘Locking fire doors is a breach of the Health and Safety at Work Act, you know.’

  ‘So is letting pets loose in the workplace.’ The Doctor grinned at her. ‘Thanks very much for that, by the way!’

  ‘What were those things?’ Charlie was struggling to find a portion of his handkerchief not covered in mud, grease or slime.

  ‘Vessels. Receptacles. Bodies for the Wyrresters.’ The Doctor glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve probably slowed them down, but not enough, not nearly enough…’ He ushered them away from the building. ‘We need to get back to the TARDIS. You three can use the bike to get back to Robin Sanford’s house.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ asked Charlie.

  ‘I have to destroy that machine.’

  Suddenly aware that Clara wasn’t with them, the Doctor stopped and looked around for her. She was still standing outside the building, hands pressed to either side of her face. The Doctor hurried back to her side. ‘Are you all right?’

  Clara gave him a weak smile. ‘Just a bit disorientated, that’s all.’

  The Doctor peered into her eyes worriedly. ‘I’m not surprised, the energies in that room would be enough to upset the most robust constitution.’ He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. ‘You’re fine.’

  The two of them hurried around the building to where Charlie and Angela were waiting in the shadow of the TARDIS. The Doctor unlocked the door and between them they managed to haul the Norton and sidecar out through the double doors. As they did so Angela glanced in through the open doors, and then abruptly stepped back, giving the Doctor a look that was half amazement, half pure terror.

  ‘I’m sure that Constable Bevan will tell you everything that you need to know,’ said the Doctor. He turned to Clara. ‘You’d better drive. Charlie here has already caused enough damage as it is.’

  ‘Hey!’ Charlie looked at him indignantly.

  Clara backed away, shaking her head. ‘I don’t think so…’

  ‘All right…’ The Doctor’s eye’s narrowed. ‘Looks like it’s you driving again after all, constable.’

  Charlie clambered onto the bike, Angela swinging herself up onto the seat behind him.

  The Doctor helped Clara into the sidecar. ‘Are you sure that you are all right?’

  ‘Honestly. I’ve just got a headache, that’s all.’

  The Doctor stepped back as Charlie kicked the big Norton into life. ‘I’ll meet you at the farmhouse later. Just lock the doors and stay inside.’

  Charlie nodded and the Norton roared off through the car park. The Doctor watched as it vani
shed along the road, then carefully removed the glass vial from his jacket.

  He held it up to the light, watching the thick, purple liquid churn and swirl inside the glass. ‘Just a headache…’ he murmured, then turned and stepped inside the TARDIS.

  Clara opened her eyes. Everything around her was dark. She tried to open her mouth, but her tongue felt thick and heavy. She tried to move, but her limbs seemed sluggish, unresponsive.

  Abruptly a glaring light snapped on, dazzling her, and she became aware of two shapes moving cautiously towards her through the brightness, one of them larger than the other.

  ‘Remarkable. I had not expected consciousness to return so soon.’

  ‘We have underestimated the abilities of these primitives. Perhaps we should reconsider our plan.’

  With a chill of recognition, Clara realised that the low, bubbling voices were the same as the one she had heard speaking earlier. They were the voices of the aliens.

  As she tried to peer through the brilliant haze, one of the shapes came closer, and she recoiled in horror as the light illuminated every tiny detail of the thing in front of her.

  The creature was like a huge scorpion, about four metres long. Its black, shiny carapace was covered in sharp bristles, and it moved skittishly on six spindly legs. Two huge claws, their surfaces covered with swirling arcane symbols, opened and closed slowly, and a curved tail, tipped with a wicked looking barb, coiled and uncoiled agitatedly.

  The creature leaned in, and Clara started to panic as it loomed over her. She tried to back away, but an invisible force held her firmly in place. Black, piercing eyes blazed in the folds of skin that made up the monster’s face, and thick, fleshy mouthparts moved wetly as it examined her.

  Clara raised her hands to ward it off, but as she did so she realised that it wasn’t hands that she was raising, it was two black, chitinous claws, the edges razor sharp, their surface covered in whorls and patterns.

  She froze, desperate to refute the evidence of her own eyes.

  Her own eyes…

  As the horror of what had happened to her struck home she tried to scream, but the only sound that she could make was a vile, burbling cough.

  The transference had been successful.

  Her mind was in the body of a Wyrrester.

  Chapter

  Seventeen

  ‘Sir, we’ve got civilians incoming.’

  Captain Wilson hurried up the stairs to the front bedroom where Private Hawkins had set up his observation post. The window was open, and Hawkins had set up his big L115A3 sniper rifle so that he could cover the whole of the front yard.

  At the far end of the narrow road that led towards the village, Wilson could see the bulky green shape of the Norton motorbike and sidecar. He could make out three figures clinging on desperately as it sped towards them.

  Then he caught sight of the shapes in the sky behind them.

  Hawkins spotted them as well, snatching up his rifle and taking careful aim. There was a deafening crack and one of the mosquitoes exploded in a cloud of legs, wings and bodily fluids.

  ‘Good man!’ Wilson clapped him on the shoulder. ‘See if you can get any more of the buggers.’

  He bounded down the stairs, taking them two at a time. ‘Arnopp, we need some of that A7E insecticide!’ he bellowed. ‘Palmer, watch the rear.’

  He hauled open the front door as Private Arnopp hurried to join him, struggling with a large plastic container of clear liquid attached to an industrial spray head. Setting down the insecticide, the two men took up positions against the wall of the house as the motorbike screeched to a halt in front of them.

  The rider and passengers barely had time to dismount before the air was filled with an angry buzzing and the mosquitoes swept into the farmyard.

  Wilson and Arnopp both opened fire with their SA80s, the high-velocity ammunition tearing into the hovering insects. The three civilians raced across the yard, covering their heads with their arms as blood and ichor showered down around them.

  ‘Inside! Inside!’ shouted Wilson, swinging around and loosing off another burst of gunfire, as several of the insects swooped past his head.

  The two women vanished in through the front door, but one of the mosquitoes lunged forward, hovering in front of the policeman and cutting off his escape route.

  Wilson struggled to bring his gun to bear on the insect, but the panicked policeman was moving around too much.

  ‘Arnopp, do you have a clean shot?’ he yelled.

  ‘No!’

  The policeman let out a scream of terror as another of the insects swooped down, landing hard on his back.

  Cursing, Wilson sprang to his feet, abandoning his assault rifle and snatching up the container of insecticide instead. He ran forwards, unleashing a torrent of spray that doused both the mosquitoes and the policeman.

  The effect was instantaneous. The two insects sprang away from their victim as if they had been scalded. Wings soaked in the insecticide, they crashed to the floor, legs thrashing uncontrollably.

  The policeman stumbled around blindly, desperately trying to clear the liquid from his eyes. Wilson grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and dragged him towards the house. As he did so, he heard the angry buzz of wings approaching from behind and something hit him between the shoulder blades.

  Almost simultaneously there was a sharp, explosive crack from the upstairs window, and the shattered body of the mosquito dropped onto the cobblestones next to its dying brethren.

  Repelled by the smell of the insecticide, or somehow aware that it faced insurmountable opposition, the remaining insect shot up into the air then vanished over the trees, its harsh buzzing slowly fading until there was silence once more.

  Wilson gave a grateful thumbs-up to Private Hawkins, then turned to Corporal Palmer who was making his way cautiously from the house. ‘Get the constable inside, would you, Palmer? Make sure he sluices that stuff off him with plenty of cold water. The boffins say that it’s harmless to humans, but better safe than sorry, eh?’

  ‘Sir.’ The corporal led the spluttering policeman inside the house.

  Snatching up his discarded rifle, Captain Wilson regarded the motorbike and sidecar with satisfaction.

  He turned to Arnopp with a smile. ‘Looks like we have motorised transport.’

  In the cool calm of the TARDIS interior, the Doctor stood hunched over one of the diagnostic consoles that bordered the control room, peering worriedly at the readout on a screen.

  A blackboard standing next to him was covered with complex calculations scrawled in chalk. As far as the Doctor could ascertain, the Bell had just operated in a way that was secondary to its main purpose. Energy emissions had certainly been sent to, and received from, the Wyrrester planet of Typholchaktas in the Furey-King Maelstrom. But they hadn’t been transmat waves. The energy had been on telepathic frequencies, and the Doctor recognised the waveform.

  It was almost identical to the telepathic energy that the TARDIS used.

  He stood back from the console, angry with himself for not realising what had happened sooner. If he was correct then the mind that inhabited Clara’s body was that of a Wyrrester, and Clara… he couldn’t even begin to image what she must be going though. Assuming that the transference had been successful, that was. If it hadn’t, then she might be nothing more than a disembodied telepathic wraith, doomed to drift through the Furey-King Maelstrom for ever.

  Either way, there was no way that he could possibly destroy the Bell until he had reversed the process.

  He glanced at the vial of purple liquid perched on the central console.

  At least he had something to bargain with.

  It took every ounce of Clara’s willpower to stop her mind descending into pure, blind panic. Slowly she tried to slow her breathing and her heartbeat, trying to find familiar sensations in the alien body in which she was now trapped.

  With huge effort she forced herself to speak.

  ‘Where… am I?’
<
br />   The second scorpion scuttled forward, its surprise plain to see, even on such an alien face. ‘It can talk? You did not say that it would be able to talk!’

  ‘They always did show signs of potential,’ said the smaller one. ‘Although, this one does indeed seem to be a quite remarkable example of its species.’

  ‘Please…’ Clara struggled to get her new mouth to force out the words. ‘Who are you?’

  The smaller creature tucked its claws across its chest. ‘I am Chief Researcher Maagla. My colleague is General Legriss. Do you understand what has happened to you?’

  Clara struggled to recall the events of a few moments ago. ‘They put me in the centre of the circle. A voice said something about me being a vessel.’

  ‘The voice that you heard was that of our Head Scientist, Gebbron. Through his genius he has been able to transplant his mind into your human body. You in turn now inhabit his form.’

  ‘So I… I’m on…’

  ‘The planet Typholchaktas. It may come a shock to you to discover that you are billions of miles from your homeworld.’

  ‘That’s what you think will come as a shock to me? Not being in the body of a giant scorpion?’ Clara tried to laugh, but the only sound she could make was a burbling cough.

  ‘Scorpion?’ Maagla tilted his head on one side in an almost human gesture. ‘I do not understand the word.’

  ‘Never mind.’

  Maagla scuttled forward, his claws touching controls on the consoles that surrounded them and Clara suddenly felt the force that held her dissipate.

  ‘Is that wise?’ snapped the other Wyrrester gruffly. ‘This creature could be dangerous.’

  ‘I do not think so,’ replied Maagla. ‘Besides. Where is she going to go?’

  Slowly Clara tried to move the body that she found herself trapped in, staggering forward almost drunkenly. ‘OK, six legs, that’s tricky.’

  Orientating herself, she turned in a slow circle, desperately trying not to let her gaze rest too long whenever she caught a glimpse of herself in the polished surface and glass screens of the control consoles.