by Gerry Davis
‘We will not argue. You must either come with us, or fade away on a dying planet.’
Barclay shook his head. ‘There is no scientific proof that this is a dying planet.’
‘Anyway,’ added Dyson, ‘perhaps we’d prefer to take our chances here!’
‘That is not possible,’ replied the Cyberleader. ‘You must come and live with us.’
‘How can we live with you?’ exploded Polly. ‘You’re so different. You have no feelings.’
‘Feelings?’ asked the Cyberleader. ‘I do not understand... feelings?’
‘Emotions. Love, pride, hate... fear.’
‘Come to Mondas and you will have no need of feelings. You will become like us.’
Polly backed away, her eyes widening. ‘Like you!’
The Cyberleader pointed to his chest unit. ‘Here we have freedom from disease, protection against heat and cold, and true mastery of the elements. Do you prefer to die in misery?’
‘Surely the Earth may not lose all its energy?’ asked Polly.
‘It is inevitable.’
‘Then you don’t mind if we all die?’
‘Mind? Why should we mind?’
General Cutler, who was still lying stretched out on the console where the Cyberman had laid him, was slowly recovering consciousness. Grasping the situation immediately, he listened, eyes closed.
‘Millions and millions of people are going to suffer and die,’ continued Polly. ‘Just because of you!’
Cutler cautiously opened his eyes. With his head turned to one side, he was in full view of the door leading to the corridor. As he watched, it opened—unnoticed by the two Cybermen who had their backs to it. To the General’s surprise, Ben came crawling through on all fours, and closed the door noiselessly behind him. In his right hand, he held the Cyberweapon.
Ben quickly scuttled in his stockinged feet to the back of the console on which Cutler was lying.
At the other end of the tracking room, Polly was still confronting the Cyberleader.
‘Don’t you ever think of anything or anyone except yourselves?’
‘We are equipped to survive . We are only interested in survival.’
‘Give me that thing.’ Cutler spoke in a whisper, but his voice, sounding close to Ben’s ear, made the sailor start. He looked up quickly at the apparently unconscious man.
‘You heard me, boy,’ the General whispered fiercely. ‘Pass me that weapon.’
Ben paused for a moment, then placed the Cyberweapon in the General’s dangling hand. With iron self-control, Cutler kept the rest of his body apparently relaxed. No one else could have detected that he was now fully awake and alert.
‘Your deaths would not affect us,’ continued the Cyberleader. ‘You are of no importance.’
‘When you rebuilt your bodies,’ blazed Polly, ‘you obviously forgot to include a heart!’
‘That is one of your weaknesses we can do without.’
In one deft movement, General Cutler swung his legs over the side of the console, levelled the Cyberweapon, and fired at the Cyberleader across the length of the tracking room.
The gun rattled harshly. The silver giant flung up his arms and teetered for a brief moment before crashing forward. The other Cyberman whirled—but Cutler, anticipating his move, had already pressed the trigger a second time.
The Cyberman staggered back against the side wall of the base, smoke pouring from the joints in his suit. Then, like his leader, he fell massively forward, shaking the floor of the base with the impact.
Polly screamed. The other men scattered. Cutler, jumping off the console, strode forward, and immediately took command. He bent down and examined the two dead Cybermen. A thin whisp of smoke was still emerging from their face slits—otherwise there was no sign of life. Severe burns indicated that they had been subjected to an immense electrical charge.
Cutler whirled round, and snapped at the awe-struck group which had gathered round him. ‘Lost your wits, eh!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘You men—get with it. All of you.’
He turned to Ben. ‘The other Cyberman—where is he?’
‘Dead.’
Cutler nodded and pointed at the radio technician. ‘Get me Geneva—pronto!’
Polly, still trembling with shock, looked down at the two dead Cybermen. ‘Why the hurry? You’ve killed them all, haven’t you?’
‘Because, little lady, they’ll soon be sending a hell of a lot more over unless we get some action.’
He turned to the other men. ‘C’mon, get these things out of here.’
As the technicians started to drag out the dead Cybermen, he turned and strode over to the console, followed by Barclay and Dyson.
The Doctor, standing by the console, faced him for a moment. ‘General, I don’t think you should have killed them. We might have learnt a very great deal.’
Barclay and Dyson nodded in agreement.
But the General brushed him aside and sat down at the console. He reached forward and opened his box of cigars. Biting off the end of a long black cigar, he spat it out—almost at the Doctor’s feet. Then he leant forward and picked up the radio-phone. ‘Put me through to Secretary Wigner.’
The feverish activity at International Space Headquarters had continued—and Wigner’s jowl, after many hours of uninterrupted work at his desk, was now black with stubble.
The buzzer from Snowcap sounded.
‘General Cutler for you, sir,’ a technician called to him.
Wigner leant slightly over the desk. ‘Hello, General, we followed Zeus Four ’s last orbits from here. A terrible tragedy.’
‘That’s not the half of it. We’ve had more visitors since then.’
‘Visitors?’ Wigner leant back amazed.
‘Not human ones, this time. These characters are part man, part robot. They come from Mondas. Three of them broke into the base and overpowered us.’
‘I don’t follow... when I last called all seemed well!’
Cutler hesitated briefly, and then spoke again. ‘I was unconscious when you got the message. The rest of the men here were under threat. They were forced to send you that message.’
Wigner noticed the strong disapproval in the General’s tone. ‘All right. Forget that now. What’s happened to them?’
‘We’ve eliminated them—but there’s sure to be more on the way. It’s an invasion. They’re hostile, strong, and entirely ruthless.’
‘This is incredible! If I had heard it from anyone else but you, General, I should not have believed it.’
‘You can believe it all right,’ the General replied harshly.
Wigner nodded slowly, as if making up his mind. He turned to the other men at the desk. ‘We’re under attack. Military bases all round the world must be put on immediate alert.’
He turned back to the radio-phone. ‘Did you hear that, General?’
‘Yeah, loud and clear.’
‘Could you deal with another attack with your limited resources?’
Cutler’s voice sounded as confident as ever. ‘Yep, we can handle them.’
‘Good. General, we’ve got a special task for you. We sent up a single astronaut to help guide Schultz and Williams down.’ He paused. ‘A mistake, as it turned out. But it was all we could do at the time.’
‘When did he go up?’
‘He was launched from Woomera just now at 1459 hours.’
‘But surely his capsule will be affected like Zeus Four ?’
‘I think we’ve... taken care of that,’ said Wigner, in his precise, slightly accented English. ‘We increased the rocket booster to double and...’
‘O.K.’ the General cut in impatiently. ‘Do you want us to take over tracking duties?’
‘Yes.’ The Secretary-General hesitated, as if faced with a difficult task, then went on: ‘One other thing. This is a dangerous mission. We needed a brave man. We asked for volunteers.’ Wigner paused.
‘Sure. So?’
‘Your son volunteered.’
There was a long silence.
‘General Cutler, are you there?’ Wigner turned to the technician. ‘Are we cut off again?’
‘No, Secretary,’ barked Cutler, ‘I’m here.’ His voice became deeper in tone, almost menacing. ‘You sent my son to his death. You realise that, I hope!’
Wigner mopped his brow with a pocket handkerchief. ‘We’ll get him. down, General.’
‘With this loss of power?’
‘I told you... his space craft has double the resources of Zeus Four .’
The General’s voice sounded grim. ‘He’s sure going to need it!’
‘Good luck, General,’ Wigner added lamely, and abruptly cut off the radio-phone.
His men had relayed the alert, and were awaiting further orders.
‘Now, if Cutler is wrong about these space creatures, we shall have done nothing more than test our global defence system. If he is right,’ Wigner paused for a moment and looked grimly at his technicians, ‘We are probably about to fight the first interplanetary war!’
Cutler turned to his assembled staff. They had listened to his exchange with Wigner over the base loudspeakers.
‘O.K., you heard all that. A new capsule is in orbit. Establish contact.’
‘But don’t you think...’ began Barclay.
Cutler cut him off. ‘Think nothing. Act first, think later. Get busy... all of you!’
The technicians quickly scattered back to their positions at the various consoles.
‘And God help the man who falls down on this assignment!’ added Cutler.
Flicking over a phone, he spoke to the surviving base guards. ‘You guys fell down pretty badly on that last emergency. Fall down on this one and I’ll have your hides. Guard the trap door, check the fuel tanks, make sure that any suspicious object on the Polar surface is immediately reported back here. Get moving.’
‘What a sickening man!’ Polly whispered to Ben. ‘He frightens me.’
‘Yeah,’ Ben nodded. ‘Wouldn’t want him on the bridge.’
Cutler now spoke into a red phone which led to another extension of the base. ‘Anti-missile control? Programme all Cobra anti-missiles for imminent launch. Hold at readiness and wait instructions.’
‘We’ll soon have this place sealed off like a bottle,’ he added, turning to the Doctor.
The Doctor shook his head. ‘I think you are underestimating the Cybermen, General Cutler.’
Cutler looked amused. ‘Is that what you reckon? Well, you’re entitled to your opinions, old man—as long as you keep them to yourself.’
He turned to Ben. ‘Here, boy, you seem to be the only guy around here with any real guts. You did well to kill that Cyberman.’
Ben came over a little uncomfortably. ‘Didn’t have no choice, did I?’
Cutler slapped him on the shoulders. ‘Don’t apologise boy. He is dead, isn’t he?’
Polly turned to the Doctor. ‘He’s really enjoying all this!’
‘What’s that?’ Cutler looked at the girl.
Polly faced Cutler as bravely as she had the Cyberleader. ‘I said you seemed to be enjoying all this.’
Cutler’s expression changed immediately. ‘Look, girl,’ he said quietly, ‘I’ve a personal stake in this emergency. My son has been sent up in a space craft, and you saw what happened to the last one!’
Polly looked at him for a moment, and then looked away. ‘I’m... I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.
The General nodded: ‘That’s O.K. Don’t apologise. Just remember.’
One of the radar technicians suddenly cried out: ‘General C-C-Cutler.’ Everybody turned.
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘Strong signal on the early warning, sir. Unidentified signal.’
‘Well identify it, man!’
‘Well it’s...’ The radar technician looked confused and pointed to the screen in front of him. ‘See here, sir, there are hundreds of them.’
‘Hundreds of what?’ asked Cutler, striding over to him.
The radar technician pointed to the circular screen—it was covered with little flecks of light.
‘Travelling eastwards,’ he continued. ‘There see?’ He indicated with his pencil. ‘At an altitude of two thousand miles.’
‘Yeah, I see them,’ said Cutler. ‘But what are they?’
‘Spaceships. Maybe up to 250 spaceships, flying round the equator in formation!’
Chapter 9
Z-Bomb Alert!
‘What!’ Cutler stared hard at the radar technician. He swallowed visibly under the General’s gaze, but nodded affirmatively. ‘Then,’ went on Cutler, ‘that means only one thing—more Cybermen!’
He turned to Dyson and Barclay. ‘Have you made contact with Zeus Five yet?’
‘We’re still trying, General,’ said Dyson.
He looked across at the Radar technician, who called, ‘Coming through now, sir. Snowcap to Zeus Five . How do you read me?’
A new voice cut in on the R/T system, alert and confident. ‘ Zeus Five to Snowcap —loud and clear.’
Cutler stiffened at the sound of his son’s voice, but gave no other visible sign that its owner was more than just another astronaut on a routine mission.
‘Are you experiencing any power loss?’ Cutler’s hand reached for another cigar, nervously twisted it between his fingers for a minute, and then, Polly noticed, carefully replaced it in the box.
Again the voice cut in over the R/T system. ‘Hey, that’s a voice that sounds familiar...’
Cutler moved forward in his chair. ‘I repeat—any power loss?’
Terry Cutler’s voice, recognising the note of command, lost its flippant edge. ‘Yes, sir, there’s some loss of power when I’m in orbit on the same side of Earth as this new planet. It picks up again on the far side, though. I guess I’m shielded there. Say, what happened to Williams and Schultz?’
Cutler’s face set into a mask. The eyes of all his men were on him. ‘You won’t be docking with them. They... er... had some trouble. Our main priority now is to get you down.’
The atmosphere in the Control Room had now gone very quiet. There was no reply over the R/T system—the astronaut was pondering the implications of what his father had said.
Then, as if to get his son’s mind off the fate of the other two men, Cutler’s voice broke in. ‘Son, we have signals down here of a large formation of spaceships. Can you see anything up there?’
After a moment’s pause, Terry’s voice broke in disbelievingly, ‘Is that some kind of gag?’ And then, as if the astronaut remembered to whom he was speaking, he continued. ‘No, sir. I’ve nothing to report so far.’
Again Cutler leant forward, speaking almost directly into the mike. ‘They’re on your orbit, some thirty miles below you.’
‘Check!’ Again a slight pause, then, ‘No, still nothing to report. It’s pretty black down there.’
‘Keep your eyes skinned and report any sighting immediately—O.K.?’
‘Roger, sir.’
‘Take care, boy. We’ll get you down as soon as we can.’ Cutler switched off the R/T mike and turned to the assembled men.
‘As I see it, we have three major problems: one, my son has been sent on a foolhardy mission into space, and we have to bring him down. Two, we can expect another visit from these space creatures. Three, that planet Mondas is draining energy from Earth.’
‘There is nothing we can do about any of those things.’ Dyson, who had said the words almost to himself, suddenly remembered that he had spoken them to the astronaut’s father.
Cutler shook his head. ‘You’re wrong, Mr Dyson. We can do plenty. We can destroy Mondas!’
‘But that’s impossible!’ Barclay broke in.
‘Impossible is not in my vocabulary, Dr Barclay.’
‘How do you propose to do it then, General?’
‘We’ll use the Z-bomb.’
After a long silence, Barclay voiced the general feeling. ‘But you can’t do that!’
> ‘I can—and I will! ‘
‘What about the radiation effect on Earth?’ asked Dyson.
‘That’s a chance we’ll just have to take.’ Cutler picked up the cigar he had previously discarded. Polly, standing close by, noticed that his hand was no longer trembling. The opportunity for action must have steadied his nerves.
‘What exactly is the Z-bomb, General?’
Cutler turned to answer Ben’s question. ‘It is a bomb that could, if rightly timed, split this planet of ours right in half. Two or three of them are positioned in strategic points around the globe. We have one, and the means for delivering it—square on Mondas ! ‘
Dr Barclay still seemed unable to grasp the full implications of the General’s decision. ‘You can’t use the Z-bomb unless you have instructions from Geneva.’
Cutler sneered. ‘Don’t worry, fella—I’ll get instructions, right here and now.’
He walked across to the R/T console. ‘Get me Geneva!’
In the International Space Headquarters, a broad blue band—marking the flight line of the Cybermen space fleet—was inching its way across the surface of the large illuminated wall map. Glowing red dots dotted about the world indicated possible landing sites. Wigner, the strain and tension now showing in his sweating face, was still in icy command of the situation.
The R/T communications man spoke up. ‘General Cutler, sir.’
‘O.K. Put him through.’
‘Mr Secretary?’
‘Yes, General?’ Wigner leant back in his chair. ‘The expected attack—they’ve been sighted in force.’
Wigner nodded wearily: ‘We’re getting reports. They’re coming in from all parts of the Earth. To make matters worse, the energy drain is increasing rapidly.’ He looked down at another batch of teletyped messages which had been thrust in front of him. ‘General, you must hold on as best you can.’
Cutler spoke crisply and confidently. ‘I think we can do better than just hold on, sir. I’d like permission to take offensive action against this planet.’
Wigner raised his eyebrows. ‘What action?’
‘The Z-bomb—mounted in the warhead of the Demeter rocket. It’s powerful enough to explode Mondas completely.’
Wigner glanced towards his aides—they included scientists, soldiers and two top international civil servants. Without the slightest hesitation, each man shook his head.
