Doctor Who and the Cybermen

by Gerry Davis

  ‘Have you any idea yet what it is?’ Polly and Ben looked hopefully at the Doctor. He looked back at them quizzically. ‘Haven’t the faintest idea, so far. But…’ he added, as he saw their faces fall, ‘… we’ll have a lot of fun tracking it down.’

  6

  The Doctor Investigates

  In the Weather Control Room, a state of emergency had been declared. Both Hobson and Benoit were seated at the main controls eyeing the world map on the huge luminous screen.

  Most of the off-duty personnel of the base were working through the banks of computers, or, with acoustic head gear, checking the Gravitron itself.

  ‘The damn thing won’t stabilise.’ Hobson, for once, sounded more anxious than angry. ‘I just don’t understand it. I’m sure there’s a loss of co-ordination somewhere.’

  ‘But where?’ Benoit was still his cool efficient self, the only sign of intense strain a tight furrow running down the centre of his brow.

  ‘Look at the indicators,’ Hobson replied. He pointed and Benoit, following his gaze, saw one of the cursors hunting restlessly back and forward across the world map. ‘It should be as steady as a rock.’

  ‘Surely it is a fault in the Gravitron itself?’ said Benoit.

  Hobson swivelled around in his chair. ‘Nils, here.’ The man Nils left his R/T set and came over to the main console.

  ‘Yes, chief?’

  ‘We’re going to run a test. Move the probe and we’ll see if the cursors move the right distance on the map. O.K.?’

  ‘Right, chief.’ Nils nodded to Hobson and sat beside him in the control seat.

  ‘Jules,’ Hobson continued, ‘keep an eye on the probe itself, will you?’ Benoit nodded and took up his position at the far end of the room where he had a good unlimited view of the tall, cylindrical probe.

  As soon as he was in position, Hobson gave the order: ‘Deflect probe five degrees, now!’ Benoit watched the probe as it slowly moved to a new position. Hobson and Nils at the console anxiously watched the cursors which were still hunting about on the map.

  ‘Look at them,’ said Hobson in disgust. ‘They’re way off. Five degrees should put them over Iceland.’ On the huge, illuminated screen the cursors were quite obviously moving to and fro over the north of Spain. ‘It’s useless. Move the probe back again into position.’

  ‘Right.’ Nils operated the controls. Again, the men heard the heavy whine of the motors as the probe swung back into its former position.

  Benoit strolled back over to Hobson. ‘The probe seemed to deflect all right.’

  ‘Then the fault must be here,’ Hobson replied. ‘This could be a major disaster. We cannot stabilise the Earth field.’

  ‘If we lose that hurricane, chief,’ Nils broke in, ‘all hell will break loose on Earth. I have a wife and family…’

  Hobson put a large hand on the man’s arm. ‘Aye, lad. We all have.’ He turned to Benoit. ‘Check the potentiometers. Nils, check the hydraulic levels. Shake it up now! We haven’t got much time.’

  Benoit walked over to the headgear rack and pulled on one of the acoustic helmets. He opened the door and passed quickly into the Gravitron chamber, closing the door behind him. As he did so the rumbling noise from within the Gravitron room seemed to increase in volume and, for once, did not decrease when the door was closed.

  Inside the Gravitron room the noise would have been deafening without the acoustic headgear. The round, doughnut-shaped torus of the Gravitron was giving out a bright pulsing light. Benoit motioned to the head operator to turn up the power on the controlling levers.

  The tension in the room was as perceptible as the vibrations of the machine. The dial needles flickered and inched up as the full nuclear power of the torus was fed into it.

  Outside, in the Control Room, Nils was reporting to Hobson. ‘Field stabilising forty-eight, chief.’

  Hobson reached forward and pulled over the mike that communicated with the inbuilt receiving sets in the acoustic headgear worn by the Gravitron operators. ‘Jules,’ he said, ‘prepare to move probe. Check the co-ordinates. We’ve got to hold the hurricane in the Pacific.’ He looked up at the huge map. ‘Stand by!’ The tension was visible on the faces of every man in the Control Room as they watched the map. Would the extra power stop the restless shifting of the cursors? ‘Now,’ said Hobson. The huge cylindrical gravity probe began to move slowly and massively from its previously vertical position and, to the accompaniment of the rumbling motors, tilted to the right about twenty degrees.

  Benoit came out of the Gravitron chamber and pulled off his headgear. He glanced across at the controls. ‘Twenty degree right tilt, complete.’

  Hobson was studying the cursors on the map. They had not moved from their position over Spain. ‘The field is not correcting. We will have to increase the reactor power.’

  For the first time, Benoit looked anxious. ‘We can’t do that, chief, the torus will burn out. We’re giving it everything we’ve got already.’

  ‘We’ll have to take that chance.’ Hobson was resolute, determined. ‘It’s the only thing we can do.’

  A bright red warning light started flashing in front of him. The men heard an angry buzzing sound. Nils got up from his control desk and called over another operator to take his place. He then strode over to the R/T set and flicked a switch. ‘Earth calling, chief,’ he said. ‘The line’s open now.’ He pointed to the hand mike standing by the director’s chair and Hobson pulled it towards him.

  The same impersonal voice as before rang through the loudspeaker system. ‘International Space Command on Earth calling Moon Weather Control.’ This time the background static was loud and Nils glanced at Benoit and Hobson.

  ‘Weather Control here,’ Hobson spoke into the mike.

  ‘Stand by for the Controller,’ the voice continued.

  ‘Come in, please,’ said Nils over the R/T set.

  Hobson leant back in his chair and turned to Benoit, hardly bothering to lower his voice. ‘The great man’s actually going to speak to us this time.’

  A new voice came over the R/T system. This time it was a man’s voice, authoritative and crisp. ‘Controller Rinberg speaking. Is that you, Hobson?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Rinberg,’ said Hobson.

  ‘The directional fields are showing progressive error.’ The voice had a dry rasp to it. ‘Reports have come in of widespread pressure fluctuations in Atlantic zone six. You must get the Gravitron back into balance.’

  Hobson shifted forward in his chair. ‘We’re trying to compensate the error by re-aligning the probe. We have an error in the servos.’

  The voice sounded even more acid. ‘Well, there’s no sign of any improvement here. We’ve just had a report from Miami, Florida. Thirty minutes ago they were enjoying clear skies and a heat wave. Now hurricane Lucy is right overhead.’

  Benoit leant over and touched Hobson on the arm. ‘There’s only one other thing we can do, chief.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Shut it down.’

  ‘What!’ Hobson sounded incredulous. ‘Switch the Gravitron off?’

  ‘Yes,’ continued Benoit. ‘It’s the only chance we have.’

  ‘We can’t do that, man.’ Hobson’s voice was urgent. ‘The collapse of the gravity would devastate half the globe. There’d be storms, whirlwinds, hurricanes…’

  Abruptly, Rinberg’s voice cut in. ‘I overheard your conversation. It is quite out of the question. You are not to shut down the Gravitron under any circumstances. And that’s an order.’

  ‘One moment,’ Hobson’s face was flushed and angry, ‘I think perhaps you don’t appreciate how serious the situation really is.’

  Again, Rinberg’s cold voice echoed around the Control Room. ‘I am well aware. We have spent years in the general assembly negotiating methods of agreement between farmers, landowners, and so on. Now the weather is out of control and they are after our blood and I must say I can’t blame them. You’ve got to get that thing under control. And soon! N
ow please get to it.’

  There was a click and the voice abruptly cut out.

  The various technicians and Weather Control men had gathered around Hobson expectantly throughout the tail-end of Rinberg’s speech.

  After his flash of anger, Hobson was calm again and fully under control. He pushed the hand microphone away from him and looked around at the assembled team. ‘You’ve heard the voice of God,’ he said. ‘Now you’re all in the picture. We’ve got trouble, bad trouble, and, what’s more, not much time! We’re going to run through every circuit, every field pattern, every nut and bolt on Charlieboy in there.’ He swept his hand over towards the Gravitron. ‘A full class A test, in fact. Until we’ve got it running sweet and smooth. Now you all know what to do, so let’s get on with it.’ As he finished speaking, without further preamble, the technicians scattered to their various positions and settled down to hard work, comparing circuit diagrams with the response of their instruments. Very tired men forgot their fatigue, and concentrated on the job in hand.

  It was into this scene of concentrated activity that the Doctor, armed with a bottle of swabs, specimen tubes and a large pair of scissors entered and immediately began to disrupt. He was doing what he enjoyed best; research for a scientific, or in this case, a medical truth. With a mad gleam in his eye, he moved quickly round the room snipping off pieces of the men’s overalls and putting them into bottles. Scraping their shoes and boots and taking swabs from their hands. He seemed not at all put out by the irritated gestures of his victims.

  Meanwhile, Nils and Benoit were checking the main Weather Control console. Hobson was standing behind them holding a board with circuit diagrams and notes on it. He was holding a pencil and checking the items as he went through. ‘Right,’ he said, ‘we’ll start on the main tape programme.’

  The men looked over at the computers. ‘Running now,’ said Nils. ‘Jules,’ said Hobson. ‘Give me analogue values on module six.’

  ‘Will do.’ Benoit looked at the instruments. ‘They look all right. A at ten millivolts. B at fifteen millivolts. C at twenty-six millivolts. That fits, doesn’t it?’

  Behind Hobson, unnoticed, the Doctor was on his hands and knees examining a piece of material he had scraped off the rubberised flooring of the base.

  Hobson finished checking the papers on the board. ‘Everything seems within normal limits,’ he said. ‘Jules, finish checking here, will you? The answer may be in the control panel itself.’ He turned to go and almost fell over the Doctor. ‘Will you please get out of my way?’ he said and brushed angrily past.

  Benoit turned to Nils. ‘I’ll sing out the binary conversion values. You check them on read-out. O.K.?’

  The Dane nodded and picked up a piece of punched computer tape protruding from the machine.

  ‘Channel one,’ Benoit continued, ‘eight, one, three, four…’ As he read out the figures, Nils concentrated on the punched tape. As each number came up he checked the tape and nodded affirmatively.

  ‘Six, eight, twelve. O.K.?’ Benoit looked enquiringly at Nils. ‘Yes,’ said Nils, ‘all spot on.’

  ‘Right.’ Benoit studied the papers on the board and made a note. At that same moment the Doctor rose from the floor and nicked a small piece off the edge of his tunic collar. ‘Hey! Careful!’ The Doctor held up the small sample of cloth and smiling, carefully put it into one of his sample tubes.

  ‘Now, where were we?’ Benoit continued. ‘Yes, the fluid servo pressures. I reckon this is probably where the fault is.’

  ‘Do you want them all?’ said Nils. ‘Or just the main tank readings?’

  ‘The mains will do.’

  ‘Right. Header – one – forty-five pounds. Header – two – forty-seven. Three – forty-two. Sine values equivalent.’

  The Doctor became obsessed by something he saw on Nils’ boots. He bent down to examine them.

  ‘They all fit,’ said Benoit. ‘Nothing there. It must be the potentiometer net, then.’

  ‘Looks like it. Take us some time to do that. We’ll need the digital vault meter.’ The Frenchman looked up over his board at Nils. ‘I’ll get it now.’ Nils turned to go, but the Doctor had got a firm hold on Nils’ boot and unlaced it.

  As the Dane moved away, the Doctor held on to the boot. Nils went flying forward, leaving the Doctor triumphantly holding the boot.

  Hobson turned round angrily. ‘What the blazes do you think you’re doing?’

  The Doctor looked up from his prize and raised his eyebrows. ‘Just taking specimens, that’s all.’

  ‘Specimens!’ Hobson seemed about to erupt again, then recollected. ‘Oh yes, of course. Get on with it. But don’t disrupt my men.’

  The Doctor nodded, placed Nils’ boot into the large plastic bag he had brought with him, and continued his search.

  *

  In the Medical Unit, Polly was busy administering to the patients. Ben was checking through a number of small bottles of drugs.

  ‘We’re nearly out of this interferon stuff.’ Ben held up one of the bottles. Polly looked at him. ‘Perhaps you’d better go up to Mr Hobson and ask him where the rest of the stuff is.’

  Ben cocked an eyebrow. ‘Hobson,’ he said, ‘must I?’

  ‘The Doctor told us to administer these drugs every four hours.’ Polly sounded a little exasperated, as if to say it was hard enough trying to be a nurse without having to put up with incompetence from the hospital orderlies. Ben looked at her for a couple of moments, shrugged his shoulders and set off for the Weather Control Room.

  Polly walked over to Jamie’s bed and looked down at him. She wet a face cloth in the stainless steel washbasin beside the bed, and mopped his brow. ‘It’s all right, Jamie, dear, it’s all right. You’re getting better, but you must keep still. The Doctor says you need rest.’

  Jamie opened his eyes and looked around him. ‘Where am I, what is this place?’ He clutched Polly’s arm anxiously. ‘Is it the home of the Piper?’

  ‘No, Jamie, you’re on the moon. You know, the moon up in the sky.’

  Jamie shook his head. ‘Nay, I canna be alive. I’ve aye seen the phantom Piper.’ As he spoke a shadow fell across the lower end of his bed and slowly moved towards him.

  Jamie looked past Polly, his face stiffening with horror. He pressed back into the bedclothes. Polly, the hair prickling at the base of her skull, turned slowly round. Facing her was the giant figure of a Cyberman. She opened her mouth to scream but before she could do so the two square metal hands of the Cyberman came forward and pressed Polly’s temples. Her body gave a violent convulsion and she dropped limply back across Jamie’s bed.

  The Cyberman looked down at Jamie and extended a hand. ‘I defy ye, Piper.’ Despite his injury and delirium, Jamie still had the fighting spirit of the McCrimmon clan. Even death, the grim Piper, could be resisted.

  The Cyberman shot out his terrible hand. The spark found its mark and Jamie fell unconscious back on the bed. The Cyberman bent over to pick up his body then saw the head wound, and the stained bandages. He hesitated, then turned round to a bed further down the line, occupied by a man known as Jim.

  As he bent to pick up the man, his movements were only slightly reminiscent of a robot. Apart from a slight jerkiness about the limbs, he could still have passed for a man – except for the colossal strength, which was equivalent to that of five men.

  The man was tall and the Cyberman, holding him by the legs under one arm, the blanket dangling beside him, headed for the door of the Medical Store Room. It closed behind him.

  A moment later, the main door to the ward opened and the Doctor came in. He was carrying a plastic bag full of oddments for testing. He looked across the ward, took in the scene at a glance and with the surprising agility he showed on such occasions, raced across the room and lifted Polly up into a sitting position. Polly stirred, and the Doctor, reaching over her, tenderly wiped her face with the wet face cloth. She started to come to…

  In Weather Control, the search for an error i
n the equipment had now eliminated most of the working parts of the Gravitron and weather control consoles. Sam, the head technician, came over to Hobson. ‘Chief…’

  Hobson looked up a little impatiently. He and Benoit were examining the test figures on the Gravitron probe itself. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I think I’ve found something.’

  ‘Well, man? Get on with it,’ Hobson snapped.

  ‘We’ve had a drop in the air pressure again.’

  ‘The same as before?’ Benoit broke in.

  Sam nodded. ‘It’s beginning to form a pattern. It lasts about five seconds.’

  ‘Just long enough for somebody to enter or leave the base.’ Benoit looked over at Hobson.

  ‘Could be. It’s not the pumps, I’m sure of that.’ Hobson was thinking out aloud. ‘Has anybody asked permission to leave the base?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Sam shook his head. ‘As far as I know, the compression chamber’s empty.’

  Hobson’s jaw tightened. ‘If I find anyone’s been messing about in there without permission, I’ll tear the hides off them.’

  As he spoke, far below in a base storeroom, another Cyberman was entering the base. At this point, the plastic dome extended some six feet below the mixture of rocks and loose sand that formed the moon’s surface. The Cybermen had broken into the base by digging down behind one of the large craggy rocks and burrowing up to the buried edge of the plastic dome. With their superior tools, they had cut out a neat square panel. This they had hinged with a strong adhesive plaster so that it operated as a door – just large enough to allow entry of the Cybermen into the base. Once inside the plastic dome, there were no further tell-tale drops in pressure.

  Having climbed inside, there was a space of some six feet to the wall of the nearest building, the lower end of the Weather Control complex. The base store room stood immediately in front of them, and it became a comparatively simple matter to cut through its metal walls and get inside. Their point of entry into the store room had been concealed by stacked cartons of foodstuffs.