Meg opened the lid of the trunk and peered inside. It was empty.
‘Satisfied?’ asked Sam. ‘Then how about getting me some grub? I’m hungry.’
‘Just you watch your tongue,’ said Meg indignantly. ‘And don’t you go bringing any of your old rubbish in my house.’ Slamming the shed door behind her, she disappeared up the garden path and went inside the cottage kitchen.
Sam chuckled to himself. He fished out the glowing globe from beneath the pile of sacking, re-wrapped it in the kitchen foil, put it back into the trunk, then closed the lid. He slid the trunk back under the workbench, then left the shed.
In the woods the Auton stopped its remorseless progress. It swung its huge body in an arc, first one way and then the other, searching for the lost signal. Finding nothing, it simply stood there, waiting for the summons to come again. It could feel no impatience, no tiredness, no hunger. These were human qualities, and the Auton wasn’t human. It would wait there for ever if need be, until its orders were changed, or the summoning signal came again.
The Doctor lay stiff and straight, eyes closed, in the hospital bed. He looked rather like the model of a crusader on an old tombstone.
Henderson looked down on him. ‘Well, he’s out of that deep coma. Seems to be sleeping normally now.’
The nurse said: ‘Do you think he’s well enough to be handed over to the UNIT people yet?’ She spoke a little regretfully, as if she’d grown rather attached to this unusual patient.
‘Oh, I think so,’ said Doctor Henderson. ‘But Mr Beavis is coming down specially to examine him. Saw my report and insisted on having a look.’
The nurse gave him a sympathetic smile. Mr Beavis was the hospital’s senior Surgical Consultant. He appeared only rarely, spending most of his time in his Harley Street consulting rooms. His eccentric appearance and high-handed, lordly manner never failed to strike terror into the junior staff.
‘But Mr Beavis is a surgeon,’ said the nurse, puzzled. ‘I don’t see—’
‘Exactly,’ said Henderson cheerfully. ‘I gather he thinks this chap is some kind of interesting freak. Probably plans to open him up and sort out his innards for him.’
The nurse shuddered, and Henderson grinned at her. ‘Come on, let’s leave the poor chap to rest while he can.’
Henderson and the nurse both left the room. As soon as the door closed behind them, the Doctor’s eyes opened and he sat bolt upright.
‘Interesting freak,’ he muttered indignantly. ‘Well, nobody’s going to sort out my innards.’ He swung his feet out of the bed, stood up and stretched.
‘Now then, I wonder where they put my clothes.’ The Doctor looked round the room. His clothes were nowhere to be seen. Cautiously he opened the door a crack, peered out, and then slipped out into the deserted hospital corridor. First he’d find himself some clothes. Then he’d go and find the TARDIS.
6
The Doctor Disappears
At that very moment two sweating soldiers were wrestling the TARDIS into a corner of the UNIT laboratory, while Liz and the Brigadier looked on.
‘Right, that’ll do,’ said the Brigadier, and the soldiers thankfully stopped shoving and left the room.
‘All you need now is a key,’ said Liz. ‘Maybe the police will lend you one.’
‘As a matter of fact, Miss Shaw, I already have the key.’ The Brigadier produced the little key that Henderson had taken from the Doctor’s hand.
The wall ’phone-buzzer sounded and the Brigadier picked up the receiver. He listened for a moment, said: ‘Yes, yes, very well,’ and put the ’phone down, frowning. He turned to Liz.
‘General Scobie is on his way up.’
Liz raised her eyebrows inquiringly.
‘He’s our Liaison Officer with the Regular Army,’ explained the Brigadier. ‘Technically, he’s my immediate superior. Very important to keep on good terms with him. His men are carrying out the search.’
Liz returned to her workbench. ‘As long as you don’t expect me to salute him.’
The Brigadier heaved an exasperated sigh. ‘Really, Miss Shaw, if you could try to be a little less difficult.’
Liz was still in a bad mood because her experiments were going badly. ‘I didn’t ask to come here, remember?’ she said.
The Brigadier’s equally acid reply was cut off by the entrance of General Scobie. Scobie was in his middle fifties, with a grizzled grey moustache. He was a rather shy man who took refuge behind a rough military manner, snapping out orders and questions in a gruff voice. But his bark was very much worse than his bite. He and the Brigadier got on extremely well.
Scobie looked round the laboratory, and at the busily-working Liz.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Brigadier,’ he barked. ‘Just thought I’d look in, you know.’
‘Always a pleasure to see you, sir,’ said the Brigadier smoothly. ‘Miss Shaw, may I present General Scobie? Miss Shaw is our new Scientific Adviser.’
Scobie said gruffly: ‘You’re a lucky feller, Lethbridge-Stewart – having a pretty girl around the place.’
Liz, who was in no mood for frivolity, gave him a quelling look and went on with her work.
The Brigadier hastened to smooth over the moment’s awkwardness. ‘Miss Shaw is working on the meteorite operation for us,’ he said.
Scobie seized the topic thankfully. ‘Ah yes, yes. Anything new on that? Papers seem to be going wild. Martians… space-ships… silly season, y’know.’ Suddenly Scobie caught sight of the battered old blue police box standing in the corner. His eyes widened. ‘What the devil are you doing with a police box?’
Liz looked up. ‘As a matter of fact, General Scobie, it isn’t a police box at all. It’s a camouflaged space-ship.’
Scobie stared at her, then started to laugh. ‘Camouflaged space-ship, hey?’ he said. ‘I like that. Very good, young lady, very good.’ He turned to the Brigadier. ‘Like to see a sense of humour among the troops. Good for morale, you know, good for morale.’
With some difficulty the Brigadier managed a tight smile.
‘Quite sir. Well, I think we should let Miss Shaw get on with her work. Perhaps a drink in my office, sir?’ The Brigadier quickly ushered General Scobie out of the laboratory, shooting an exasperated look at Liz over the General’s shoulder. Liz chuckled, and went back to her work, feeling rather cheered up by the encounter.
The Doctor strolled along the hospital corridor in his dressing-gown, occasionally exchanging a cheerful nod with a nurse or a fellow patient. Sooner or later, he realised, someone was going to ask him what he was up to. That is if he didn’t run slap into Henderson, or his own particular nurse. Suddenly, he heard the familiar sound of Henderson’s voice. ‘Hope you had a good journey, sir?’
The voice was just round the next corner. Immediately, the Doctor opened the nearest door, looking for a hiding-place. He found himself in a small room, one side of which was lined with lockers. Another door, at the far end, led into a washroom. Footsteps stopped outside in the corridor. Henderson’s voice said: ‘How were the roads, sir?’ Another voice, high-pitched and querulous, answered: ‘Shockingly overcrowded, as usual. No room for a decent car these days.’ The door to the corridor started to open.
The Doctor dashed through into the washroom. He looked round wildly at the row of washbasins. Then he spotted the shower-stall in the corner… Hastily he began pulling off his dressing-gown.
In the locker-room, Henderson was helping Mr Beavis off with his driving clothes. One of the old boy’s many eccentricities was to drive a vintage Edwardian Rolls. He dressed accordingly.
Henderson slipped the long driving cape from Beavis’s shoulders and hung it up. Beavis pulled off his Sherlock Holmes deerstalker. The two men walked into the washroom. Beavis took his jacket off and began to wash his hands.
‘What are all those toy soldiers doing round the place?’
Henderson had to raise his voice to answer. Loud splashing and tuneless singing was coming from the shower-stall.
>
‘Searching for lost Government equipment. That’s how they found the patient, you know, sir.’
Beavis cackled: ‘And then they shot him, eh?’
‘It was all a bit unfortunate,’ agreed Henderson.
A new thought struck Beavis. ‘Listen, I’ve left me car outside. They won’t go muckin’ about with it, will they?’
Henderson passed the old man a towel and stood by to help him on with his jacket. ‘I’m sure it’ll be quite safe, sir. As a matter of fact, I’ve asked them to look after it for you.’
‘I thought perhaps a cup of tea in my office, sir?’ said Henderson. ‘You could take a look at my notes and records. Then we could go and see the patient.’
Beavis settled his jacket onto his shoulders and turned to go. A note of enthusiasm came into his voice. ‘What I thought we could do, d’you see… just a brief exploratory operation. Open him up, take a poke around, see what’s what.’
The old man’s voice faded as Henderson ushered him through to the locker-room and out into the corridor. The door closed behind them. The Doctor’s indignant face popped out between the shower curtains. ‘Poke around!’ he said. ‘Poke around! Oh no you don’t!’
Wrapped in a towel, the Doctor stepped out of the shower and went through into the locker-room. The lockers contained all kinds of different garments, stored for the hospital’s in-patients. The Doctor rooted around and found the locker with his own clothes. He fished them out, and looked at them sadly. The coat was wrinkled, the trousers were baggy, and both were far too small. He shook his head. ‘You’d think if they changed the body, they’d remember to change the clothes to fit.’ Well, he wouldn’t get far looking like a scarecrow. He needed a disguise. Ruthlessly the Doctor began to rummage through all the other lockers, hauling garments out and tossing them on the floor with wild abandon.
Ten minutes later he stood looking at himself in a mirror. The dark trousers were quite a decent fit, and so was the velvet jacket. The frilly white shirt, once the property of an aspiring pop star, added a touch of gaiety. So did the floppy bow tie. The Doctor gave his new appearance an approving nod. In his old body, he’d never bothered about clothes, but in his new appearance they seemed rather important to him.
The Doctor spotted Beavis’s cape and deerstalker hanging up. Just what he needed. ‘Serve the old butcher right,’ he said cheerfully to himself. ‘And didn’t he say something about a Rolls?’ He slipped the cloak round his shoulders and pulled the deerstalker over his eyes. Finally he went through the pockets of his old clothes. ‘Sonic screwdriver, TARDIS detector… Yes, it all seems to be there.’ Quickly the Doctor transferred his possessions into his new pockets. Then he slipped Beavis’s cape round his shoulders, pulled the deerstalker down over his forehead and cautiously opened the door into the corridor.
Hastily he pulled it shut again as once more he heard familiar voices.
‘Dammit, Henderson, if those notes are accurate, the feller must be a freak,’ Beavis was saying.
‘They’re accurate, I promise you, sir,’ Henderson replied. ‘But if he is a freak, he seems to be a very healthy one. I don’t see that an operation…’
‘Where’s your sense of adventure?’ asked Beavis. ‘Haven’t had a really interesting operation for years. It’d be a challenge.’
The Doctor shuddered to himself as the voices moved away. Then he opened the door again, stepped out into the corridor, and made off hastily in the opposite direction.
As the Doctor strode across the foyer, with a brief nod to the receptionist, a passing medical student said to his friend, ‘Old blood-and-bones isn’t honouring us for long. He’s only just arrived.’
‘Good job too,’ said the other. ‘He’s probably finished off poor old Henderson’s patient for him already.’
The Doctor emerged onto the steps. A soldier was standing guard on a very handsome vintage Rolls-Royce.
The sentry looked up in alarm as he saw the tall, imposing figure bearing down upon him. They’d impressed it upon him that the old boy was some kind of VIP.
‘All present and correct, sir,’ said the soldier as the Doctor climbed on board. ‘Very handsome vehicle, sir.’
‘Harrumph,’ replied the Doctor, thanking his lucky stars that the key was still in the dashboard. The old engine turned over sluggishly, and the Doctor revved it up again.
In the room that had been the Doctor’s, Beavis and Henderson were staring, perplexed, at a very empty bed.
‘Some kind of prank, is it?’ said Beavis querulously.
‘He was here just a moment ago,’ said Henderson.
A coughing roar was heard from outside. ‘My car!’ the old man yelped angrily. ‘Someone’s muckin’ about with my car!’ He rushed from the room.
With Henderson panting behind, Beavis rushed out onto the main steps, just as the Doctor got the old Rolls engine turning over to his satisfaction.
‘Stop, stop,’ yelled Beavis. ‘Get out of that car at once!’ The Doctor raised his hand in a lordly wave, put his foot down hard. He accelerated down the drive, through the main gates, and out of sight.
As the Doctor sped along the road that led through Oxley Woods he caught sight of the Army patrols, still searching. But it didn’t arouse much interest in him. As yet, the Doctor had no idea of the significance of the meteorite shower that had accompanied his arrival on the planet Earth. He had only one idea in his mind – to find the TARDIS, and its key, and resume his travels through Time and Space. He glanced down at the device on the seat beside him. In appearance it was like an old-fashioned pocket-watch. But instead of hands, the dial bore a single needle. That needle always pointed unerringly towards the TARDIS. It was quivering now. With a smile of satisfaction the Doctor sped on his way.
Deep in the woods Corporal Forbes and his patrol were bending excitedly over their detection device. They were on the borders of a small stream which ran through a clearing.
‘It’s a reading, Corp,’ said one of the soldiers excitedly. ‘I’m sure it’s a reading. Can’t seem to see anything, though.’
Forbes squatted on his boot-heels. The reading was strongest at the very edge of the stream. Carefully Forbes began to smooth away the muddy soil, digging gently with his strong fingers. Soon his fingers touched a round smooth shape.
‘Shovel,’ snapped Forbes, and one of the others hastily passed him a short-handled trench shovel from his pack.
As Forbes dug cautiously, the spherical shape of a meteorite was gradually revealed.
‘Must have buried itself in the wet mud, see,’ said the Corporal. ‘Then the water smoothed over the mud, covered the traces, like. Get Captain Munro on the RT, lad. Tell him the good news.’
As the soldier turned to his field radio, the sphere was already beginning to pulse with a green, unearthly light.
Not far away, an Auton came to life. It spun round in an arc, spun back again, getting a fix on the signals from the sphere. Lurching forward the Auton began its march towards the unsuspecting soldiers.
When Munro arrived in the clearing the sphere, now pulsing strongly and regularly, had been completely dug up. It was resting on sacking in the bottom of an ammunition-box.
Munro looked at the sphere with curiosity. ‘Well done, Corporal Forbes, jolly well done. Carry it up to the jeep, will you?’
The two soldiers picked up the ammunition-box by its rope handles. With Munro and Forbes in the lead, the little group headed for the road.
‘The Brigadier will want this in the lab at H.Q., right away,’ said Munro.
‘Going to drive it up yourself, sir?’ asked Forbes. Munro considered; the idea was tempting. But other patrols were still searching. He was needed on the spot to co-ordinate their efforts. Anyway, thought Munro, fair’s fair. Forbes had done well to find the meteorite. He deserved to be the one to hand it over.
‘I think that honour should be yours, Corporal,’ said Munro as they reached the jeep. ‘I’ll let the Brigadier know you’re on your way.’
‘Quick as you can, Corporal,’ said Munro. ‘But no accidents!’
Forbes grinned. He was a very experienced driver. He’d never had an accident in his life. At a nod from Munro, he started the jeep rolling and disappeared down the country lane, with a roar of exhaust.
‘Lucky blighter,’ said one of the soldiers enviously. ‘He’ll be down the pub tonight, while we’re camping out in the wild, wet woods.’
Briskly, Munro turned to them. ‘Let’s not rest on our laurels, eh? Quite a number of those things came down. So far we’ve turned up one broken one and one whole one. Got to do better than that, haven’t we?’
With an inward sigh, the soldiers shouldered their detection gear and returned to the search.
Once the sphere was in the jeep, the Auton realised that pursuit was hopeless. The energy unit was moving away too fast. The Auton stopped, apparently baffled. But the tiny fragment of intelligence that animated the Auton was also a part of the supreme brain of the Nestenes. Part of it, and in constant communication with it. That particular Auton became motionless. The problem no longer concerned it. Fresh orders had been transmitted to one of its fellows, better placed for immediate action.
Corporal Forbes was whistling cheerfully as he drove through the woods. Decent of young Munro to let him deliver the meteorite to H.Q. Some officers would have hogged that job themselves. Taken all the credit, too. Might be a spot of leave in this, with any luck. Maybe even another stripe.
These happy thoughts were suddenly interrupted. A figure stepped from the woods ahead of his jeep. Big chap, wearing overalls. He just stood there in the middle of the road, waiting. Hitch-hiker probably, thought Forbes. Some hopes, this trip.
He made a negative wave of his hand and moved the wheel to drive round the obstruction. But the figure dodged suddenly in front of the jeep, and Forbes had to jam on the brakes to avoid hitting it. The jeep skidded to a halt, its nose in the roadside ditch. Forbes jumped out, shaken and furious.
Doctor Who and the Auton Invasion Page 6
