Doctor Who NSAQR02 Made of Steel

by Doctor Who

  ‘They’re planning some operation,’ said Sheila. ‘Something big. Another invasion perhaps.’

  ‘With only two of them?’

  ‘Two’s all we’ve seen – so far. There may be a whole army hidden somewhere.’

  ‘There’s a cheerful thought,’ said Burton gloomily.

  ‘Got to face facts, sir,’ Sheila went on. ‘I’m wondering if we should come clean, warn the public. . . ?’

  Burton shook his head. ‘Out of the question. The invasion and the final battle are too recent. Any hint of it happening again, there’d be nationwide panic – worldwide panic. We’ve got to contain the story.’

  ‘We can’t keep the lid on this forever.’

  8

  ‘We can hold it down for a while longer.’ Burton slapped a pile of folders onto his desk. ‘The relatives of the casualties are squared away, the press and TV under strict embargo.’

  ‘Can’t stop gossip and rumour, sir;’ said Sheila obstinately. ‘There are already scare stories out on the Internet.’

  ‘Just a wacky bunch of conspiracy nuts,’ said Burton. ‘Nobody’s going to pay any attention to them. We’ve got to keep things quiet till we know what’s really going on. The raid on this camp makes it a Military Intelligence problem, Captain Sarandon, and it will be sorted by Military Intelligence – by us!’

  Sheila Sarandon thought of the old joke about Military Intelligence being a contradiction in terms, but she was too well disciplined to say it out loud.

  Burton picked up a folder from his desk. It was marked ‘Top Secret’.

  ‘According to the official reports,’ he told her, ‘the whole thing was cleared up by this character codenamed the Doctor – the one who apparently works out of an old blue police box.’

  ‘Maybe we should put out an alert for him’ said Sheila. ‘Ask the cops to keep a lookout for an ancient police box and a skinny bloke in a pinstriped suit.’

  She’d said it as a joke, but Burton seemed to take the suggestion seriously.

  ‘That’s not a bad idea, Sheila. Get on to it right away. The way things are at the moment anything’s worth a try.’

  She looked at him to see if he was winding her up, and decided he wasn’t.

  ‘Very good, sir,’ she said, and picked up the phone.

  9

  Chapter Four

  Homeward Bound

  MARTHA JONES PACED AROUND the TARDIS console, glancing occasionally at the Doctor as he studied a row of dials and read-outs. Now that her return to the Royal Hope was approaching, she was feeling strangely nervous. How would her old friends feel about seeing her again? How would she feel about them?

  ‘How much longer, Doctor?’

  He answered without looking up. ‘Oh, any minute now. I should think. Probably.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you be steering or something?’

  ‘You reckon?’ He frowned, and the frown became a teasing grin.

  ‘No need for that. I preset the course coordinates.’

  ‘Yes, but where for? Ancient Rome? World War Five?’

  ‘Oh Martha, Martha, Martha.’

  He ran round the console and

  clapped his hands on her shoulders. ‘Have a bit of faith. Have a bit of confidence. We may have had the occasional blip. The very occasional blip. Or burp. Or hiccup.’ He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and kicked his feet as if embarrassed. Then he hiccupped, making her laugh out loud.

  ‘And, all right, there was that unlucky business with Mount Vesu-vius,’ he went on. ‘But be fair. By and large, the TARDIS is pretty reliable these days. Only had to use the hammer twice in the last few trips. I’m even thinking of fixing the chameleon circuit.’ He was nodding excitedly, as if to prove this was true. ‘The only trouble is, when the circuit was working, I could never find the thing again. I mean, if you can’t remember what the TARDIS has changed into. . . ’ He was back at the console now, staring down at the same set of dials.

  Martha had no idea what he was on about. She decided not to ask and changed the subject.

  11

  ‘What’s so fascinating about those dials anyway?’

  The Doctor straightened up. ‘Oh, goodness knows. Do you know?

  I don’t know. Though I started picking up some strange readings as soon as we reached your sector of space-time.’

  ‘What kind of readings?’

  ‘All sorts of stuff. Energy spikes, transmit signatures, Radio 5 Live.

  Maybe someone’s using a teleportation device.’

  ‘A how much?’

  ‘Or a digital radio.’

  ‘At last – something I do understand.’

  ‘Or cellular dissemination.’

  Martha shook her head. ‘Nope, gone again.’

  ‘Matter transmission – the instant movement of objects from place to place. Well, I’ say objects – could be people. Even buildings. Like a hospital. Bit of a clue there, did you spot that?’

  ‘Yeah, got that thanks. So what about it?’

  ‘For starters, it’s impossible,’ said the Doctor sternly. ‘At least it ought to be. The technology hasn’t been invented in your time.’

  ‘Maybe someone’s invented it,’ suggested Martha. ‘Some mad scientist. Again.’

  ‘Unlikely.’ The Doctor frowned. ‘But there might be a more worrying explanation.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Someone’s using alien technology. Possibly,’ he decided, ‘an alien.

  They sort of go together, I find.’

  ‘Oh no,’ said Martha. ‘Not another invasion. What this time – giant hippos? Intelligent wildebeest? Alien llama maybe? Not more of those ghastly metal men. I couldn’t go through all that again.’

  The Doctor smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry. Whatever it is, it isn’t Cybermen. The Cybermen were all sucked into the Void. Doubt if it’s llamas either, actually.’

  ‘Maybe they got out again. The Cybermen.’

  ‘Impossible. The gap into the Void is sealed, sealed forever. It can never be reopened. Never.’ The Doctor’s smile faded and, just for a moment, he looked incredibly sad. ‘If it could be. . . ’

  12

  ‘What? What’s the matter, Doctor?’

  Before the Doctor could reply, the TARDIS console gave a series of discreet pings.

  ‘We’ve arrived,’ said the Doctor brightly. ‘Show time.’ He touched the door controls and peered cautiously outside.

  ‘Well, it doesn’t look much like the Circus Maximus in Ancient Rome,’ Martha decided. ‘And nobody seems to be shooting at us.’

  Martha followed the Doctor out of the TARDIS and looked around.

  A stretch of windswept tarmac, rows and rows of cars, everything from consultants’ Rolls Royces to medical students’ old bangers. A big white building in the distance.

  Martha gave the Doctor an impulsive hug. ‘Oh well done, Doctor, spot on. Royal Hope Hospital car park.’

  ‘Of course,’ said the Doctor modestly. ‘Where else?’

  Behind his back, he uncrossed his fingers.

  ‘Come on then,’ said Martha eagerly. ‘I’ll introduce you to all my mates.’

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘Better not. Some of them might remember me. Best to avoid any awkward questions.’

  ‘And how do I do that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you’ll have too much trouble. When people are faced with the unbelievable, they tend to react by not believing it.

  Even when they’ve seen it with their own eyes. You’re a funny lot, you humans.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’ll have a wander round and get the feel of things. Meet you back here in a couple of hours. Enjoy your reunion.’ He gave her a quick smile and strode away in the direction of the busy streets.

  ‘Hey,’ Martha called after him. ‘Pay and display – make sure you get a ticket or they’ll. . . ’ She broke off, and looked at the TARDIS parked neatly between two cars. ‘They’ll wheel-clamp you,’ she murmured
.

  Martha watched in disappointment as the Doctor walked off into the distance. She’d been looking forward to showing him off to all her friends. Still, that was the Doctor for you – hard to pin down. Just when you thought you were best mates, he wandered off.

  13

  Perhaps it wasn’t really all that surprising if the Doctor sometimes acted unexpectedly. Most of the time, he looked so much like a skinny geek that it was hard to remember that he was an incredibly ancient alien.

  Better make the best of it. She headed towards the hospital.

  Some time later, a young police constable began patrolling the car park. There had been several cases of theft from cars, even a late-night mugging, and the hospital authorities had insisted that Something Must Be Done. PC Jim Wilkie was that Something.

  He was a keen young officer, just out of his probation period, and he took his job very seriously. Unlike some of his colleagues, he studied and memorised all official messages and orders. Today, for instance, there’d been a strange request to keep an eye out for an old, wooden police box.

  PC Wilkie stopped abruptly halfway along a row of parked cars.

  ‘Gordon Bennett,’ he thought. ‘There it is!’

  A blue wooden box. And, to prove it, over the door, were the words

  ‘Police Box’. A notice on the door read:

  POLICE TELEPHONE

  FREE

  FOR USE OF

  PUBLIC

  ADVICE & ASSISTANCE

  OBTAINABLE IMMEDIATELY

  OFFICER & CARS

  RESPOND TO ALL CALLS

  PULL TO OPEN

  ‘Those were the days,’ thought PC Wilkie. He tapped the personal radio in his breast pocket. ‘Imagine having to find a blue box before you could call for back-up.’

  He pulled at the door of the police box but it refused to budge.

  ‘Can’t expect it to be still in service,’ thought Wilkie.

  14

  He called the station on his radio. ‘Sarge, you know that call to look out for an old police box. You won’t believe this but I’ve just spotted it, in the Royal Hope car park. . . ’ He walked slowly all round the box, squeezing past the cars. ‘And it hasn’t got a ticket.’

  The desk sergeant sighed, put down his mug of tea and noted down Wilkie’s report. ‘Well spotted son, I’ll pass it on. Keep an eye on the box.’

  Wilkie’s voice crackled out of the intercom. ‘What for, Sarge?’

  ‘In case someone drives it away!’

  The desk sergeant picked up the phone, called Central Intelligence Clearing, where the request had come from, and relayed Wilkie’s report. They’d pass it on to whoever was interested.

  ‘Weird business,’ he thought. ‘Maybe someone pinched it from a museum.’

  He took another swig of tea.

  15

  Chapter Five

  Cybermen

  IN A VAST, SHADOWY dome, a tall, silver figure stood over a complex muddle of electronic equipment. Crates holding more equipment were stacked all around.

  Nearby, a second enormous figure worked on a smaller installation with a large monitor screen at its centre. A network of cables fed the equipment with power routed from the London Electricity Grid.

  A third figure, the Cyberleader, supervised the work of the other two.

  ‘The work goes slowly.’ The Cyberleader’s voice was harsh, metallic, with a strange fluting quality. He turned to the first Cyberman. ‘Is the force field operational?’

  ‘The force field is in place, Cyberleader.’

  ‘And the monitor?’

  The Cyberman by the screen spoke in the same flat voice. ‘The monitor is functional. If he comes, it will detect his alien form.’

  ‘Report on the teleportation device?’

  ‘It is functional, but its reliability is impaired.’

  ‘It must be made reliable. The device is vital to us. If we are to gather equipment for the final plan. . . ’

  The first Cyberman spoke. ‘We do not have the scientific knowledge to carry out the final plan. Without that knowledge, the equipment is useless.’

  The second Cyberman said, ‘The raids must be attracting human attention. Their forces will be seeking us.’

  The first Cyberman carried on the gloomy chorus. ‘The humans will notice the power losses from this base. We cannot conceal them forever. In time, they will use them to track us down. We are too few.

  We cannot defeat them.’

  17

  In a calm, passionless voice the Cyberleader said, ‘All that you say is true. Our plan has only a small chance of success. But it is the only plan we have. We must carry it out to the end. We will survive.’

  The first Cyberman said, ‘Only the one who closed the Void has the knowledge to reopen it.’

  The second Cyberman said, ‘The one who closed the Void is not here. He escaped from us.’

  ‘He will return,’ said the Cyberleader. ‘We are attacking this planet.

  He has an emotional attachment to this planet. That is his weakness.

  He will hear of the attacks and return.’

  Suddenly, a series of high-pitched beeps came from the monitor. A tiny point of light was pulsing on the screen.

  ‘He has returned,’ said the first Cyberman.

  ‘Find precise location.’

  ‘That will be difficult.’

  ‘It must be done. For our plan to work, we need the Doctor.’

  Hands in pockets, the Doctor wandered through the busy network of streets around the hospital. The rain had cleared up, the wind had dropped, and it was a pleasant sunny morning. And, somewhere, something mysterious was going on. That was what he liked about Earth. It was as unpredictable as its weather.

  There was something very odd about those teleportation signals. . .

  He found himself in a busy little street, lined with bookshops and cafes. One of the cafes bore a sign:

  NICK’S INTERNET CAFE

  ‘Aha!’ said the Doctor out loud. ‘Perfect!’

  It was a small, fairly scruffy place. A glass-topped counter with a coffee machine behind it. Beyond, a double row of computers, a handful of them in use.

  Behind the counter stood Nick himself, a small, thin, sad-looking man with a straggly goatee beard. He looked at the Doctor and said mournfully, ‘Time?’

  18

  The Doctor nodded. ‘Yes, well, that’s the big question, isn’t it? Time!

  You know what I always say? Time will tell. You have no idea how often that turns out to be the case.’ He beamed at the cafe owner.

  Nick sighed. ‘How long?’

  ‘Yeah, well, that’s another one, isn’t it.’ He sucked air through his teeth. ‘How long indeed? Who knows? From here to eternity. You know, Newton would say. . . ’ He frowned. ‘I’m sorry – what was the question again?’

  Nick was used to eccentrics. ‘How long on the computer?’ he asked patiently.

  ‘Oh, about an hour should do.’

  ‘Two quid. Cappuccino?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘Another two quid.’

  The Doctor searched through his pockets and eventually gathered together enough loose change to pay for his cappuccino and his computer time.

  Nick pointed. That one there, end of the row.’

  The Doctor carried his coffee over to the computer and sat down.

  For a moment or two, he sat staring vaguely at the keyboard.

  At the next computer, a dark-haired girl, a law student researching her thesis, leant over and said, ‘Need any help?’

  The Doctor grinned. ‘Thanks. But I think I can probably cope.’ He pulled out his glasses and popped them on.

  His long fingers flashed over the keyboard with amazing speed.

  A news channel appeared. The Doctor scrolled through it, speed-reading. He punched up another, then another and another. The girl raised her eyebrows and turned back to her own screen.

  The Doctor sat back, thinking over what he
had learned. The usual stuff. Worldwide wars, political struggles, show-business, celebrity gossip – humans didn’t change much. And crime. In particular, rob-beries. Two of them – a computer store and a government lab. There was also one very brief report about an attack on an army camp, but the reports were curiously vague.

  19

  Even so, he now knew that three very well-protected establishments had been targeted, and there were no explanations of how the attackers got in, or how they escaped. To enter and leave a heavily guarded place without trace suggested something else: teleportation.

  The Doctor thought for a moment, remembering a website he’d seen on an earlier visit to Earth. A website that dealt with the odd and the unexplained. Things like the Doctor himself, in fact. A website that provided strange reasons for strange events. Conspiracies.

  His fingers moved over the keyboard again. Just as he’d expected, all three raids figured largely on that website. There was even a special article about them. The article contained one vital fact, missing from all the earlier news reports the Doctor had read.

  Giant silver figures had been sighted at all three raids. Reports of the sightings had been suppressed by the authorities, using all the powers of the state: D-notices, the Official Secrets Act, court injunctions. . . Witnesses who wouldn’t keep quiet had simply vanished –many of them, it was suggested, into secure mental hospitals. There was, said the writer, only one possible explanation. The Cybermen were back, and the authorities were holding back the news to avoid panic.

  The tone of the article was wild and hysterical, thought the Doctor, and the author might well be a little crazy. But he was right, all the same. The Cybermen were back. And if he knew about them, perhaps they knew about him. And Martha would soon be waiting by the TARDIS.

  The Doctor jumped up and the pretty girl at the next screen looked round.

  ‘Found all you wanted?’

  ‘Oh yes. Rather more than I wanted, actually.’ The Doctor gave her another smile, a rather sad one this time, and hurried out.