Doctor Who: The Edge of Destruction

by Nigel Robinson

  Susan lunged viciously forward with the scissors, warning him not to come any closer. But when she spoke her voice was stilted and staccato, like a robot’s. ‘Who—are—you—’

  ‘Susan, it’s me, Mr Chesterton,’ Ian said, and reached a hand forward. ‘Give me the scissors, you don’t need them.’

  ‘What—are—you—doing—here—’ Again that flat, emotionless tone, belied by the fear in her eyes.

  ‘Susan, give me the scissors,’ repeated Ian firmly.

  Susan stared madly at him and dived forward, aiming for the schoolteacher’s face. Ian retreated, just in time to avoid the sharp points of the scissors.

  Susan was about to make another attack when her expression changed and she looked curiously at Ian, seeming to recognise him for the first time. She looked confusedly from his face to the scissors in her hand and then back to his face again.

  Ian stood by helplessly as Susan wailed with anguish and frustration and fell back weeping onto her bed. Like a person possessed, the fifteen-year-old schoolgirl began to slash with the scissors at the mattress of her bed. This continued for almost a minute and then she fell back onto the bed, teary-eyed and exhausted, burying her head into her pillow.

  By her side the scissors clattered and fell, useless, to the floor.

  2: The Seeds of Suspicion

  As soon as the Doctor had regained his strength, his first concern had been to check on the health of his granddaughter and, with Barbara’s support, he had walked shakily down the passageway which led to her room.

  When he discovered his granddaughter weeping on her ripped and torn bed, and Ian standing dumbfounded by her, he seemed to recover his former vitality and sharply ushered the two schoolteachers out of the room, closing the door on them.

  Ian and Barbara stood outside for long minutes while the Doctor talked to his granddaughter. They exchanged worried, grim looks. Once again they were being made to feel the outsiders on the Ship, excluded from the alien lives of the Doctor and Susan. The them-and-us mentality, so expertly displayed by the Doctor, did nothing for their peace and security on board the TARDIS.

  ‘What happened in there?’ asked Barbara.

  Ian showed her the scissors he had picked up off the floor of Susan’s room. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Susan seemed to go crazy... didn’t seem to recognise me... and then she attacked me with these scissors.’

  Barbara expressed disbelief. Ian continued: ‘Don’t expect me to explain it, Barbara. She was like a person possessed.’

  Barbara felt a tingle of fear run down her spine at Ian’s words. She changed the subject. ‘What do you think they’re talking about in there?’

  Ian shrugged. ‘How should I know? No doubt we’ll find out when they’re good and ready.’

  Finally the door opened and the Doctor came out. ‘Susan is resting peacefully now,’ he said. ‘I’ve given her a mild sedative.’ He paused to give the two teachers a withering look, as if to accuse them for Susan’s confused state of mind, and which clearly expressed the very low opinion he had of them. ‘Now I suggest that we put our heads together and discuss our current predicament.’

  He led the way to the rest room and eased himself onto the Chippendale chaise-longue, childishly taking up the whole of the seat so that Ian and Barbara were forced to stand. When he spoke it was as though he were addressing a group of slightly dim-witted students, and did not encourage any interruptions. Like so many of the Doctor’s ‘discussions’ this one was no more than an opportunity for him to hold forth before a captive audience.

  ‘Now this is the situation as I see it,’ he began. ‘We have suffered a massive explosion, the result of which has been that the main drive and power functions of the TARDIS have been massively curtailed. As of yet we have no means of establishing the cause of this explosion or how seriously the rest of the Ship has been affected. Susan has suggested to me that the TARDIS has stalled, and somehow become trapped within the time vortex. That I dispute. All indications on the parts of the control board which are still operational tell me that we are still in flight; and yet the time rotor is motionless suggesting that we have, in fact, materialised. The time rotor is one of the most sensitive instruments on board my Ship and I feel much more inclined to believe that. We have undoubtedly landed.’

  ‘But where?’ persisted Barbara. ‘Where are we?’ The old man’s steady logical tone was beginning to infuriate her.

  The Doctor shook his head and raised a hand to silence her. ‘Tut, tut, all these questions, Miss Wright...’

  His patronising tone finally proved too much for the former history teacher. ‘You just don’t know, do you!’ she snapped. ‘For all your pontificating and high-minded attitude you’re as much in the dark as the rest of us. Why don’t you admit that you haven’t the faintest idea what has happened to us and let us all try and solve this problem together?’

  ‘My dear Miss Wright, I have many more years of experience than you can ever have dreamed of,’ retorted the Doctor, furious at having his ability called into question by a mere twentieth-century Earth school-teacher. ‘I have studied at the greatest institutions and with the most brilliant minds in the entire universe. If I cannot find the answers to this problem then I doubt very much whether your primitive mind can even discover the questions!’

  Barbara darted a look of sheer, undisguised hate at the pompous, arrogant old man. If Ian had not laid a restraining hand on her shoulder there was no telling what she might have done; but the chances are that it would not have done the Doctor’s health any good.

  Instead she contented herself with glaring at him and then walked smartly out of the rest room in disgust.

  Ian was more level-headed than Barbara and, though the Doctor’s arrogant and abrasive attitude infuriated him just as much, he thought it wiser to appeal to the Doctor’s vanity. The man was insufferable, certainly, but he was unfortunately speaking the truth: he was indeed the only one who could rescue them from their present predicament. It would do well to flatter him for the moment.

  ‘You must surely have some idea where we are, Doctor,’ he said gently.

  ‘Where isn’t as important as why, young man,’ the old man said, neatly sidestepping the question. ‘I have to confess that I am somewhat at a loss in this situation. Something like this has never affected the TARDIS before. But every problem has its solution. There must be an answer, there must be!’

  ‘Perhaps the Fault Locator can tell us?’ suggested Ian. He was referring to a large bank of computers in the control room which monitored and regulated every performance of the TARDIS. If any part of the time-machine was damaged in any way, the Fault Locator would point out the area to be repaired.

  The Doctor nodded approvingly and led the way out of the rest room, clicking his fingers as he would if he were calling a pet poodle to heel. Ian bit his lip in an effort to control his temper and followed.

  When the two men reached the control chamber Barbara was already there, standing stiffly in the shadows by the Doctor’s ormolu clock, her arms folded in barely concealed irritation. She looked venomously at the Doctor and then turned sulkily away.

  The Doctor ignored her, and turned to Ian. You didn’t touch the controls, did you?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ said Ian. ‘Something seemed to happen every time we tried to approach one of the control panels. Some sort of electrical discharge, I imagine.’

  ‘Did you?’ the Doctor asked Barbara. Her stony silence was answer enough.

  The Doctor tapped his fingers together. ‘I know Susan wouldn’t touch the controls without my permission...’ He shook his head. ‘I worry about that girl,’ he said, almost talking to himself. ‘This temporary lapse of memory is most disturbing... it’s never happened before. She’s always been a very sensitive child; the shock of the explosion must have been much more traumatic than we thought..

  Barbara, who had been staring into space, looked over at Ian. ‘I was thinking...’ she began tentatively. His recent contretemp
s with the schoolteacher already forgotten, the Doctor seized eagerly on her words. ‘Yes. what is it? Anything may help.’

  Barbara lowered her eyes to avoid the Doctor’s stare as she said, ‘Well... do you think something might have got inside the Ship?’

  ‘Pschaw!’ said the Doctor scornfully, responding exactly as Barbara had feared he would. ‘My ship is inviolable, sacrosanct! Nothing, physical or mental can penetrate its exterior defences without my express permission.’

  Barbara looked up at the old man, and stared him straight in the eyes. ‘The doors were open,’ she stated flatly.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ The Doctor’s temper was rising again. ‘Susan said that too when I talked to her; but she must have been hallucinating. The doors cannot open unless the controls are operated. The very idea that they can be forced open by an outside power is preposterous!’

  Intrigued by Barbara’s theory, Ian ignored the Doctor, much to the latter’s indignation. ‘What do you mean, something might have got into the Ship?’ he asked her. ‘A man or something?’

  Barbara nodded.

  ‘It’s not very logical, is it?’ chided the Doctor, as though he were berating a rather dull student. ‘Really, Miss Wright...’

  ‘Or something else...’ continued Barbara. ‘Another intelligence perhaps...’

  The Doctor snorted scornfully. ‘As I said, Miss Wright, it’s not very logical, is it?’

  ‘No, it isn’t—but does it have to be!’ burst out Barbara, angered once again by the Doctor’s lofty attitude. ‘Perhaps I am overreacting to the situation; perhaps I am letting my imagination run away with me. But at least I am trying to come up with some answers. And anyway, what if it isn’t logical? Why don’t you admit that things aren’t always logical? After all we’ve been through—’

  The Doctor wagged an admonishing finger at Barbara. ‘Really, Miss Wright,’ he said patronisingly, ‘if you can’t contribute anything useful to our discussions I suggest you—’

  ‘Well, what do you suggest? You’re being so very high and mighty. You’re supposed to have all the answers. So you tell us what’s happening around here. Go on—tell us!’

  The Doctor turned away from her. Barbara had touched a raw nerve. ‘I have been very patient with you, Miss Wright,’ he prevaricated. ‘But really, there is no more time for any of your absurd theories.’

  Ian attempted to calm the tension which was building up between the Doctor and Barbara. ‘It’s probably only a mechanical fault,’ he said reasonably.

  ‘Exactly!’ said the Doctor, pleased that at least one of his two ludicrous human companions was showing a little bit of common sense. ‘A mechanical fault, that’s what it must be. But what worries me is that it may be the main power unit. If that is the fault it could cause us quite a bit of trouble. If this is the case I shall have to attend to the TARDIS’s engines.’

  He turned back to Ian, once more ill-manneredly ignoring Barbara. ‘Young man, now that Susan is out of action I think that you will have to try and help me with the Fault Locator. It won’t take long.’

  Ian nodded but added a word of caution. ‘All right. But I wouldn’t go near the central console if I were you, Doctor. It might give you an electric shock!’

  ‘What? Oh yes, a very wise piece of advice indeed, Chesterton. Now do come along!’

  The Doctor crossed over the floor of the control room towards the unit which held the Fault Locator computer. Before he joined him Ian turned back to Barbara who was standing by the door which led into the other parts of the Ship.

  ‘I swear I’m going to throttle him one day,’ Barbara said.

  Ian smiled. ‘You’ll have to get in the queue.’ he said. ‘Barbara—’

  ‘Keep an eye on Susan?’

  Ian nodded. ‘Don’t tell her about anything being on the Ship,’ he whispered, sounding almost conspiratorial. ‘The less said, the better.’

  ‘Come along, Chesterton!’ the Doctor called unpatiently from the other end of the control room.

  Ian shrugged and went over to join his older companion. Barbara paused for a moment before leaving the room, giving Susan, who had been standing unseen in the doorway, listening, the chance to stride back down the corridor to her room. As she passed through the rest room she quickly picked up the pair of scissors which Ian had relieved her of and placed there earlier. She had heard every word spoken by Ian and Barbara.

  Don’t tell her about anything being on the Ship . So, reasoned Susan in her confused state of mind, something had indeed come aboard the TARDIS. And what was more, Ian and Barbara knew what it was.

  The Fault Locator was, in fact, a series of computers and monitors which lined one entire wall of the TARDIS control room. It was separated from the rest of the chamber by a large transparent screen.

  Most of the half-light in the control room found its source here; for some reason the strange power loss which affected most of the TARDIS’s instruments did not seem to have influenced the Fault Locator. The only other source of illumination in the room appeared to come from the overhead shaft of light above the time rotor in the centre of the control console.

  The Doctor indicated a VDU screen to Ian. ‘Now, young man, what you will see on that screen is a series of letters and numbers. Each one represents a particular piece of instrumentation on board my Ship. Should any of those numbers flash that will mean that that piece of equipment is malfunctioning.’

  Ian signalled his understanding and the Doctor punched out a program on the Fault Locator’s computer keyboard. A series of consecutive numbers began to appear before Ian’s eyes.

  Ian stared at the digital read-out for ten minutes, his face macabrely illuminated by the emerald green glow of the video screen. Finally every single piece of machinery and instrumentation in the TARDIS had been accounted for. He turned to the Doctor who was expectantly awaiting his report.

  ‘Well, Chesterton?’ he asked impatiently. ‘What does the Fault Locator say? What’s wrong with my Ship?’

  Ian frowned. ‘That’s just the trouble, Doctor,’ he said. ‘According to this nothing at all is wrong with the TARDIS. Every single piece of equipment is functioning perfectly.’

  ‘Preposterous!’ mocked the Doctor. ‘Our power has been seriously curtailed. According to you and Miss Wright the doors seem to be opening of their own accord. Susan says the Food Machine is malfunctioning. There must be something wrong. Are you sure you’ve read the instruments correctly?’

  ‘I did exactly what you told me to do, Doctor,’ Ian replied peevishly. ‘Look for yourself if you don’t believe me. I even double-checked the mechanism for opening the doors and for providing food and water. Every single instrument of the TARDIS is in perfect working order—and yet nothing is working. Could there be a malfunction in the Fault Locator itself ?’

  The Doctor shook his head. ‘No no no, that’s impossible. The Fault Locator works on a different system and power source altogether; it has to by its very nature.’ He frowned and scratched his chin. ‘Every single mechanism in the Ship is supposedly functioning perfectly and yet we are suffering this strange power loss. I wonder...’ The Doctor stroked his chin and looked thoughtfully at Ian.

  ‘Yes, Doctor?’ asked Ian in anticipation.

  ‘I think that you and I, young man, should go down to the TARDIS’s engine and power rooms,’ he said finally. ‘The Fault Locator is not registering a malfunction on board my Ship, so it will be necessary for us to examine the Ship’s drive mechanisms for ourselves. Are you in agreement?’

  Ian frowned, oddly disturbed by the almost eager manner in which the Doctor asked the question. But nevertheless he nodded his head in agreement.

  ‘Where are the power rooms, Doctor?’ he asked. ‘You’ve never spoken of them before.’

  ‘Deep down in the very heart of my Ship, Chesterton,’ said the Doctor. ‘They form the very nerve centre of my machine.’

  The Doctor left the area of the Fault Locator and crossed the floor of the control cha
mber. He opened up one of the roundels on the wall to reveal a small storage unit from out of which he took two small oil lamps, similar to the one in Susan’s bedroom. He lit them and passed one to Ian.

  ‘It will be very dark down there,’ explained the Doctor. ‘These will afford us some light.’

  ‘Oil lamps?’ asked Ian quizzically. ‘Surely that’s a little primitive?’

  ‘We have no way of knowing what manner of force is draining away the power from my Ship,’ replied the Doctor. ‘But whatever it is I doubt very much that it can effect something as primitive and simple as the combustion of oil.’

  Smiling in spite of himself, Ian followed the Doctor through the open doorway and into the interior of the TARDIS.

  3: Inside the Machine

  The path the Doctor took Ian led him down through long winding narrow corridors, the existence of which he had never before suspected. These passages were even darker than the rest of the Ship, and the light from the oil lamps allowed them to see only a few feet in front of them.

  In the darkness, the rhythmic in-out in-out breathing of the life support system seemed even more eerily alive. Ian shuddered, but resisted the urge to share his fears with the Doctor who would only delight in ridiculing his irrational notions.

  The Doctor walked down the corridors at a brisk trot, stopping only occasionally to check his way. To Ian it seemed as if the Doctor was trying to lose him in the darkness; for an old man his pace was surprisingly quick and Ian often found himself having to increase his step to catch up with him.

  The walls of the corridors were covered with the roundels common to all parts of the TARDIS, and every ten feet or so were interrupted by a closed door. Sometimes they would open one of these doors and enter the corridor beyond it. Ian asked the Doctor where the other doors led to but the Doctor’s only response was a muttered suggestion that he mind his own business. Ian wondered whether the Doctor really did know what lay behind all these locked doors, or for that matter exactly where he was going.