‘Lethbridge-Stewart? About this raid on the plastics factory. Not on, I’m afraid. They’re doing important Government work, and they mustn’t be interfered with.’
The Brigadier could hardly believe his ears. ‘But, sir, our investigations all point to the fact that this factory is the centre…’
Scobie’s voice cut in coldly: ‘I’m sorry, Brigadier, but this is a direct order. Keep away from that factory, or you’ll find yourself in very serious trouble. By the way, I’m recalling my men. They’re urgently needed elsewhere.’ There was a click and the ’phone went dead.
The Brigadier turned to the others, his face grim. ‘That was General Scobie. He’s cancelled the raid on the factory.’ The Doctor and Liz were busily re-assembling their apparatus. The Doctor looked up.
‘Well, you’ll just have to go ahead without him, won’t you?’
‘Go ahead? How can I, without any troops?’
‘What about all those men you had searching the woods,’ asked Liz.
‘They were regular army chaps. On loan from General Scobie. Now he’s withdrawn them all.’
The Brigadier began to pace the laboratory. ‘Well, I’ll just have to go over his head. Get on to the Home Secretary. Make him revoke the order. If that doesn’t work, I can get on to UNIT H.Q., in Geneva, and ask them to put pressure on the Government.’
The Doctor’s face was grave. ‘All that’s going to take time – and I’ve suddenly got a nasty feeling that time’s running out on us.’
‘How do you think the plastics factory people managed to get Scobie to change his mind?’ asked Liz. ‘Have they got influence in high places?’
‘No idea,’ said the Brigadier disgustedly. ‘Unless they managed to appeal to his vanity with that replica business.’
The Doctor looked up keenly. ‘Replica? What replica? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Didn’t give me much chance, did you?’ said the Brigadier aggrievedly. ‘Only just heard about it myself.’
He told them about Scobie’s earlier visit to the factory. About the special exhibition of VIPs that was being held at a famous London waxworks.
The Doctor’s face lit up. ‘A waxworks. My goodness, a waxworks. Yes, of course!’ He glanced at the clock. ‘Come on, Liz, we might just get there before they close.’ Almost dragging Liz after him, the Doctor rushed from the laboratory.
‘Hey, wait! Just a moment,’ the Brigadier called after them. Then he shrugged his shoulders. Let them go to the waxworks. Let them go to the Tower of London, Buckingham Palace and the London Zoo while they were at it! And much good might it do them. As usual all the real work was left to him. Like children, these scientists!
The Brigadier gave the glowing green sphere a final disgusted glare. Malignantly, it flashed back at him. Then he left the laboratory and went down the corridor to his office. Throwing himself into his chair, he snatched up the ’phone.
‘Operator, this is Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. Get me the Home Secretary on the security line. I want to fix up an immediate appointment.’
Liz Shaw hung on to her seat as the Doctor raced the UNIT jeep through the London traffic. He’d only been dissuaded from taking Mr Beavis’s Rolls by her reminder that it was probably on the stolen cars list. But he was getting quite a turn of speed out of the jeep.
‘Nippy little things, these,’ yelled the Doctor happily, as they took a corner on two wheels, outraging a passing traffic-warden.
‘Doctor, please,’ yelled Liz. ‘What’s the rush? And did you ever pass a driving-test?’
The Doctor was indignant. ‘Of course I did! I’m a qualified rocket pilot on the Mars to Venus route. And as for the rush – if we can get to the waxworks before closing time, it’ll save us the bother of breaking in!’
The Doctor whizzed the jeep through a narrowing gap between two heavy lorries. Liz shuddered and decided not to distract him with any more questions.
In a few minutes they arrived outside the waxworks.
With a fine disregard for regulations the Doctor parked the jeep on a double yellow line, and hared up the steps, Liz following behind. There was still ten minutes to go till closing time. Liz went to the ticket-box.
‘Hardly worth going in now, is it?’ said the old attendant at the main entrance, as Liz showed him the tickets.
The Doctor beamed at him. ‘Well, as a matter of fact, old chap, we just wanted a very quick look at one particular exhibit – the special VIP room.’
The attendant seemed surprised. ‘Don’t get many asking for that, sir,’ he said. ‘Here, you come with me, I’ll show you where it is.’ Liz and the Doctor followed him along the corridors. Most of the visitors were going the other way, making for the exits. The old man took them to a small room, set apart from the main displays. There was the usual raised platform with a silk rope railing it off. On the platform stood a number of still figures. Most were of ordinary looking men and women in business clothes, though one or two were in uniform. Liz looked at the Doctor in puzzlement. Was this all they had come to see? But the Doctor was looking round with keen interest. Apart from themselves the room was completely empty.
‘They don’t seem very popular, do they?’ he said cheerfully, turning to the old attendant.
‘Well, between you and me sir, this lot aren’t,’ said the old man. ‘It’s choice of subject if you ask me. I mean, look at ’em.’ He waved round the room. ‘Top Civil Servants, one or two MPs, high-ranking blokes in the Army, Navy and Air Force, even the Police. All very important ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure. But – well, not a lot of glamour about them, you see. And the public must have glamour.’ The little old man nodded his bald head emphatically.
‘They do seem rather a dull lot,’ agreed Liz.
‘Mind you,’ said the attendant loyally, ‘this new modelling process is marvellous, no doubt about it. I mean, see for yourself. Looks real, even feels real. Every detail perfect. Now if only they’d done a few pop stars, or a decent murderer or two.’
‘That wouldn’t have been nearly so much use to them,’ said the Doctor, almost to himself. Ignoring the attendant’s startled look, he said: ‘I gather these waxworks aren’t made here – in fact, they’re not really waxworks at all.’
‘That’s right, sir. Some factory down in the country do them. Completely new process. Some new kind of plastic.’
‘How do they come to be on display here?’ asked Liz.
The old man’s voice became confidential. ‘Well, you see, miss, these people are trying to break into the waxworks line. So they got on to us and offered to provide a whole display completely free, just to see how the things went with the public. This little room was empty, so we agreed. Between you and me, it hasn’t been much of a success.’
‘On the contrary,’ said the Doctor, ‘I think it’s been a great success.’ He gave the puzzled old man a charming smile. ‘Is the display complete now?’
‘Well, we thought it was. One more turned up today, though. That’s him over there.’
He pointed to a stiff uniformed figure at the end of the room. Liz and the Doctor walked up to it.
‘It’s General Scobie!’ said Liz.
‘Just as I thought,’ said the Doctor. He turned to the attendant. ‘Thank you so much for being so helpful. We mustn’t keep you any more. I know there’s only a few more minutes, and you’ll be busy closing up. We’ll find our own way out.’
‘Right you are, sir,’ said the attendant. ‘You’ll find an exit just over there.’ And he shuffled out of the room.
Liz turned back to the Doctor. ‘What’s so surprising about a replica of Scobie? We knew they’d done one.’
But the Doctor wasn’t listening. To Liz’s astonishment, he swung his long legs over the silk rope and climbed up on the platform. He began examining the model of General Scobie. He tweaked its ear, looked into its eyes, and finally first peered at, then listened to, the watch on the model’s right wrist. Then he climbed back over the rope.
‘Liz,
if you were making a model of someone, would you put a wristwatch on it?’
‘I might – if it had to look completely authentic.’
‘All right. Would you also go to the trouble of winding the watch up and setting it to show the correct time and date?’
Liz looked at the model of Scobie, then back at the Doctor. ‘I don’t know,’ she said uneasily. ‘What are you getting at?’
The Doctor indicated the rows of silent figures. ‘All these models must be taken into custody immediately. I’ll want to examine them in the laboratory.’
‘You can’t arrest an entire waxworks display.’
‘I can’t, but the Brigadier can! Change for the telephone, please, Liz.’ Urgently the Doctor held out his hand.
Liz fished out some change and gave it to him. With a muttered ‘Back in a minute,’ the Doctor rushed off.
Left alone with the silent models, Liz looked around her. She examined the replica of General Scobie. It did look uncannily lifelike. But surely the Doctor couldn’t mean…? And what about all the others?
She looked up in relief as the Doctor came hurrying back. ‘Nobody there,’ he said bitterly. ‘The Brigadier’s gone round to see the Home Secretary and young Munro’s on his way back from Essex. Just some idiot soldier who’d never heard of me and didn’t understand what I was talking about.’
‘I’m not sure that I do,’ said Liz. ‘What do we do now?’
‘If the Brigadier can’t help us, we shall have to help ourselves.’
Liz looked at him with horror. ‘You’re not suggesting we just steal these things?’
‘Well, not all of them,’ said the Doctor reasonably. ‘But we should be able to manage one or two little ones, surely?’
‘And what will the staff say when we start walking off with the exhibits?’
The Doctor gave her a pitying look. ‘We don’t do it right now, Liz. We’ll wait till the place is closed and empty.’
Liz drew a deep breath. ‘Doctor, if you imagine for one moment…’
From outside in a corridor they heard an attendant’s voice. ‘Come along now please, ladies and gentlemen. The waxworks is now closed.’
The Doctor grabbed Liz by the hand. ‘Come on, Liz. Hide!’
The old attendant came into the room and peered round shortsightedly. The place was empty. He wondered briefly about the strange couple who had been so interested in this display. Must have gone out by another exit, he thought. He turned out the lights and went back into the main corridor.
After a moment, two of the models in the rear rank moved and stirred. Cautiously Liz and the Doctor came out of their stiff poses and climbed off the platform.
‘Splendid,’ said the Doctor. ‘Now all we have to do is wait until things quieten down a bit.’
Liz sat down on the edge of the platform. ‘Doctor, when you were talking about the watch – did you mean that’s the real General Scobie?’
‘Oh yes, I think so. Under some form of deep hypnosis, poor chap.’
‘Can’t you bring him out of it?’
The Doctor looked dubious. ‘Too dangerous. I don’t know the exact techniques they used, you see. It could do him permanent damage, even kill him, if things went wrong.’ The rows of silent figures were now shadowed in the semi-darkness. ‘What about this lot? Are they real people too?’ said Liz nervously.
‘Oh, I doubt it. You see, these replicas haven’t been activated yet. They had to use their Scobie replica early.’
‘So as to stop the Brigadier from attacking the factory?’
‘Exactly.’
‘And these others?’
‘They’ll be activated too. When the time comes. That’s why I need to get some of them back to the lab. I’ve got the apparatus we fixed up for a weapon to use against them, you see. But I’ll need to run proper tests.’
‘How much longer have we got to wait here then? I keep getting the feeling those things are watching me.’
The Doctor gave her an encouraging pat on the back. ‘Cheer up, it won’t be for much longer. And it could be much worse, you know.’
‘It could?
The Doctor smiled. ‘Just think – we might be in the Chamber of Horrors.’
*
Channing and Hibbert stood silently, almost reverently, beside the huge tank. The creature inside was much bigger now. It could be seen moving and struggling with restless life, as if ready to break out.
Channing adjusted more controls to speed up the flow of nutrient. Hibbert asked in a kind of fascinated horror: ‘What will it look like when it is ready?’
Channing straightened up from the controls and looked at him impassively. ‘I cannot tell you that.’
‘But you must know,’ protested Hibbert. ‘You made it.’
‘I made nothing. I merely created an environment which enabled the energy units to create the perfect life form.’
Hibbert rubbed his forehead. ‘Perfect for what?’
‘For the conquest of this planet,’ said Channing coldly.
Hibbert’s face twisted with effort. ‘I don’t under—’
Channing looked at him with sudden contempt. ‘Of course you don’t understand. How could you?’
Hibbert backed away in terror. Channing forced himself to remember that he would need this weak human tool for just a little longer.
‘Don’t struggle against me, Hibbert,’ he said soothingly. ‘Trust me. Obey me. We must work together.’
Hibbert relaxed. ‘Yes, of course. It’s all so clear when I’m with you. It’s just that sometimes…’ Hibbert shook his head as if to clear it. When he spoke again his voice was bright and cheerful. He might have been any business executive discussing a routine problem with a colleague.
‘What about the swarm leader? It still has to be recovered from UNIT.’
Channing’s tone was equally matter of fact. ‘That is being attended to now. By our General Scobie.’
‘But he’s only a copy. If he’s detected now…’
Confidently Channing said: ‘Until now, Hibbert, you have seen only the basic Autons in action. Crude weapons with a single purpose – to kill. The facsimiles are perfect reproductions, even down to brain cells and memory traces.’
‘There is still a difference. They’re not human beings.’
‘The only difference is the absence of emotion. And emotion is inefficient, Hibbert. That is why the Nestenes are your superiors.’ Channing turned to go. ‘I am going to activate the facsimiles. You will see then how effective they are.’
Captain Munro paced about indecisively. He was wishing he knew what the blazes was going on. First the Essex operation had been cancelled. All the army men on loan to UNIT had been suddenly recalled. The Major in charge of the withdrawal had been as puzzled as Munro himself. ‘Sorry, old chap, direct orders from General Scobie himself. All these chaps are going on special training manoeuvres in Scotland.’ Now, back at UNIT H.Q., Munro had learned from the duty corporal that a raid on the plastics factory had been suddenly mounted and as suddenly cancelled. The Brigadier was off trying to secure an interview with the Home Secretary, and the Doctor and Miss Shaw had vanished on some wild goose chase. Apparently the Doctor had ’phoned in some time ago with a wild demand that they should attack a waxworks. Then he’d run off in a huff without saying where he was speaking from. There didn’t seem much that Munro could usefully do about anything.
Feeling baffled, lost and generally deserted, Munro decided that he might as well go home. After a night and a day combing those wretched woodlands he could do with a night in a proper bed. Yawning, Munro was just about to go and tell the duty corporal of his intention when he heard voices in the main area. To his astonishment he recognised the familiar tones of General Scobie. Hastily grabbing his cap, Munro dashed from his office. In the reception area he found General Scobie accompanied by two tough-looking armed military policemen. The thoroughly terrified duty corporal seemed to be protesting feebly about something.
Saluting,
Munro said: ‘Can I help you, sir?’ As Scobie turned round Munro noticed that the old boy had none of his usual cheerfulness about him.
Scobie’s voice was cold and formal. ‘Ah, Munro. This fool here seems incapable of obeying a simple order.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir. What’s the problem?’
‘No problem. I’m taking the meteorite off UNIT’s hands.’
‘But surely, sir…’ Munro protested.
‘Where is it?’ barked Scobie.
‘In the laboratory, sir. But with respect…’
Scobie wasn’t listening. Followed by the two military policemen, he marched down the corridor and into the lab. Munro had no choice but to follow.
In the laboratory the meteorite was still standing on its special stand. As Scobie entered the green globe began once more to pulse with light. Scobie looked at it with satisfaction and reached out to take it. Hurriedly Munro said: ‘May I ask what you intend to do with it, sir?’
‘The Government are sending it to the National Geophysical Laboratory.’
‘The Doctor and Miss Shaw had already begun to run a series of tests—’
‘And where’s this precious Doctor now, eh?’
‘I’m not quite sure, sir,’ Munro admitted. ‘But I’m sure he’ll be back soon and so will the Brigadier. If the matter could wait till then…’
Scobie was insistent. ‘Certainly not. This thing’s too important to be left to some nameless eccentric.’
Again he reached for the meteorite but Munro managed to edge between Scobie and the stand.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but I think the Brigadier ought to be informed. I’ve no authority to part with the meteorite.’
Suddenly Scobie’s eyes seemed to blaze with anger. ‘Are you refusing to obey an order, Captain Munro?’ There was a cold ferocity in Scobie’s voice as he went on: ‘I am forced to remind you that, although you are attached to UNIT, you are still a serving officer in the British Army. Will you hand over that meteorite? Or must I take it – and have you placed under arrest on a charge of mutiny?’
Doctor Who and the Auton Invasion Page 11
