Doctor Who And The Tenth Planet

by Gerry Davis

  Ben held his head in his hands: ‘I can’t seem to hear you, Poll. My head’s splitting apart.’

  ‘Ben, you must remember. Please try and think! Did you manage to do what Dr Barclay told you?’

  ‘I just don’t know!’

  Suddenly another voice cut in through the loudspeakers. ‘Silo here. We have a fault on range computer. Check all circuits.’

  ‘Stop the countdown,’ ordered Barclay.

  Polly put her mouth close to Ben’s ear. ‘Does that mean they’ve found the fault?’

  ‘Dunno,’ said Ben, confused.

  Suddenly, Cutler became aware of the implication of the last report. He rose from his seat at the console, and pointed the heavy black pistol at Barclay:

  ‘Exactly what is the matter with the range computer?’

  Barclay’s face went pale. He shook his head. ‘Only a minor fault, General.’ He spoke into the mike. ‘Holding at T minus one and thirty-five.’

  Cutler leant forward, his gun pressed against Barclay’s chest. ‘It’d better be minor.’

  ‘Fault clear,’ confirmed the voice from the loudspeaker.

  Cutler looked round, then slowly relaxed, replacing the gun on the bench. Barclay took out a handkerchief, mopped his brow and looked over at Ben. Then he turned back to the mike.

  ‘Proceed with countdown, counting T minus one point three five from—now ! ‘

  ‘Oh, Ben ! ‘ cried Polly. ‘Don’t say it will fire—after all you’ve done.’

  But Ben could only shake his head in confusion. Had he or hadn’t he? If only he could remember!

  Chapter 11

  Cybermen in Control

  ‘T minus thirty seconds.’

  Polly grabbed Ben’s arm and whispered to him. ‘We’ll know if you succeeded in just a few seconds.’

  The whole tracking room was electric with tension. The Z-Bomb, which was capable of splitting the Earth in half, had long been held as the so-called ultimate deterrent. Nobody, least of all the men manning the base, had thought that this terrible weapon, the most destructive invented by mankind, would ever be used.

  Now the unthinkable was happening. In a few seconds the hatches at the top of the silo would open outwards in the snow to reveal the cannon-like mouth and long deadly rocket—destination Mondas!

  ‘T minus twenty seconds.’ The voice of the technician reading the seconds off the countdown clock shook slightly as the long hand moved relentlessly towards the moment of blast off.

  ‘T minus ten seconds.’

  ‘T minus five seconds.’

  The entire base personnel had now taken their cue from Dyson, who had put his hands over his ears, and was bracing himself for the shock as the giant rocket motors ignited deep beneath them. Only Cutler held himself aloof from the excited apprehension of the others, standing erect and soldierly as ever, watching the countdown clock.

  The shock never came.

  After a long moment’s pause, the technicians uncovered their ears and stared incredulously at the clock—now silent. The countdown had finished; the automatic ignition should have taken place; twenty tons of deadly payload should have been roaring—visible on their large monitor screen—up from the base. Instead, nothing had happened. Why?

  In the sudden silence, Polly, unable to contain herself any longer, leaped to her feet and clutched Ben round the neck. ‘Ben—you made it! It hasn’t worked. Now we’ve all got a chance to live—even the Cybermen!’

  Beside her, the tall figure of Cutler froze, as he realised the implication of her words. He turned towards Ben, and spoke slowly, gratingly: ‘Your new friends, the Cybermen, may have a chance of life—but not you, sailor.’

  He turned to the Doctor who was sitting beside Ben. ‘Nor you, old man.’

  The Doctor had been lost in thought throughout the entire countdown. Now he rose to his feet and Ben and Polly watched in amazement as the mask of age and extreme fatigue fell away. The failure of the Z-Bomb had galvanized him. He seemed to have recovered his former strength and resilience.

  ‘It seems, sir,’ he said to Cutler in his mannered, slightly old-fashioned English, ‘that your plan has been foiled. The rocket has not gone off.’

  But Cutler only gave him one contemptuous glance and turned away to consult with Dyson.

  ‘Are you all right, Doctor?’ asked Ben. His head, although it still ached from the fall, had now cleared.

  ‘Yes,’ added Polly. ‘What’s been happening to you, Doctor?’

  ‘I’m not sure, child. An outside force of some kind, perhaps? This old body of mine is wearing a bit thin.’

  ‘A bit thin?’ asked Polly anxiously.

  ‘Yes,’ replied the Doctor. ‘It’s nearly time for a change...’

  Then, seeing her worried look, he continued, ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m all right for the time being, I expect...’

  He was interrupted by the strident voice of General Cutler, who had turned away from Dyson, and was now speaking, automatic levelled, to the unfortunate Dr Barclay.

  ‘The rocket was sabotaged with your help, Dr Barclay. I’m going to give you one more chance to get it off the ground.’ He raised his pistol and aimed at the physicist’s head. ‘Or I’ll shoot you right here and now.’

  There was a nervous flurry in the room as the technicians moved hurriedly back out of range.

  Barclay, although highly nervous, looked up, his face set with a desperate courage. ‘I can’t fire this rocket now—and neither can you.’

  ‘How long will it take to re-fuel?’ asked Cutler.

  ‘Quite long enough.’

  After a long silence, Cutler spoke again. ‘I see!’ He nodded as if to himself. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it.’ His brow furrowed and the time travellers could see the veins on his neck tighten. His finger began to apply pressure to the trigger. Barclay closed his eyes.

  ‘No! No! ‘ screamed Polly, running forward.

  Her voice shattered the horrible suspense within the tracking room. Cutler, as if returning to reality, shook his head. He steadied himself, relaxed his hold on the trigger, and lowered the gun.

  ‘Get up!’ he ordered.

  Barclay quickly rose to his feet.

  ‘Now get over there with the rest of them.’ He pointed to the time travellers. Barclay moved over and stood beside Ben, who had risen nervously when Cutler picked up the pistol.

  Cutler, without taking his eyes off Barclay, Ben and the Doctor, spoke out of the corner of his mouth to Dyson. ‘Try to get Lt Cutler once again.’

  Dyson sat down in the chair of the R/T operator, and picked up the earphones. The R/T operator looked towards Cutler. ‘We’ve been getting a signal, sir.’

  Cutler nodded. ‘Put it through.’

  Dyson pushed a switch forward and a voice, broken, distorted, but still unmistakably that of Cutler’s son, began to speak.

  ‘Hello, Snowcap . Do you read me? Hello, Snowcap .’

  Cutler strode over and picked up the address mike. ‘Hello, son, reading you, but very weak. Speak up.’

  ‘I’m bawling my head off—now. I’m tumbling badly. Little control left of capsule. Must speak fast.’

  ‘Go ahead, son.’

  ‘This new planet... something strange is happening. It seems to brighten up like a sun—then darken again.’

  The Doctor started forward. ‘There, you see—I told you it couldn’t absorb much more energy.’

  Cutler did not appear to have heard the Doctor’s interjection. He was listening too intently for his son’s next words.

  The radar technician’s voice broke in over the curtain of static from the loudspeakers. ‘Sir, sir.’ His voice was high-pitched, urgent. ‘Cybermen spaceship on approach path—heading right here.’

  ‘SHUT UP—ALL OF YOU! ‘ Cutler shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Terry,’ he called into the mike, ‘are you still there?’

  Lt Cutler’s voice was coming over more and more faintly. ‘Hey... control going again... energy loss severe...
like being on a switchback... can’t seem to...’

  The set cut out with a sudden click. The silence, as the static faded, was disconcerting.

  ‘Son!’ shouted Cutler, shaking the mike and looking round desperately, ‘hello—do you read me?’ He turned to Dyson: ‘Get that signal back!’

  Dyson shook his head. ‘It’s gone, General. It could be a power failure.’

  For the first time, Cutler seemed to lose control. His sweating face was distorted with anxiety; his shoulders slumped forward. He looked older than a man in his middle fifties. ‘Keep trying. For heaven’s sake, keep trying.’

  The radar technician’s voice broke in again. ‘Sir, Cyberman ship on descent now.’

  The technicians rose to their feet in alarm. The room became a babble of speculation. Only Cutler seemed oblivious to the news. He was bent over the seated Dyson, watching him as he manipulated the wave bands, trying to catch a signal from the capsule. Cutler’s voice was almost pleading. ‘Come on, fella, give it everything you’ve got. There must be some signal.’

  Dyson shook his head reluctantly. ‘No good, I’m afraid. It’s quite hopeless.’

  Barclay shouted across to the General. ‘Sir, the Cybermen will be landing at any moment. Don’t you realise...’

  ‘General!’ The Doctor added his voice to try and gain Cutler’s attention—but he simply ignored them all.

  ‘The enemy, General—they’re landing,’ shouted Barclay.

  The word ‘enemy’ suddenly seemed to get through to Cutler. He straightened up from the R/T control console and turned towards Barclay. ‘The enemy,’ he was speaking slowly, eyes staring, mouth slightly open, ‘I’ll tell you who the enemy is—you, Dr Barclay, are the enemy.’

  The R/T technician stood up and pointed towards the screen. ‘The Cybermen, sir. They must have landed!’ He indicated the screen, empty of blips—but Cutler ignored him.

  Brushing all the technicians aside, he started walking towards Barclay and the time travellers, holding his automatic pistol loosely at his side.

  The technicians scattered before him. Cutler’s face was twisted, frightening, almost demented.

  Barclay turned desperately to the soldiers. ‘He’s gone off his head. Can’t you see? Disarm him!’

  But Cutler’s authority at the base was absolute. The men clutched their carbines nervously and watched as if paralysed.

  Cutler raised his gun and indicated the three men one by one. ‘You,’ (he pointed at Barclay) ‘you,’ (he pointed at the Doctor) ‘and you,’ (he pointed at Ben) ‘are the culprits. Because of your actions my son is dead. I’m going to deal with you personally.’

  The General levelled his pistol, his face impassive. His gun moved from side to side for a moment, as if uncertain which one to shoot first—then it stopped at the Doctor. His finger tightened, his eyes narrowed as he aimed... Polly began to scream hysterically.

  A shattering noise came from outside the tracking room—the crack of rifle shots followed by the grating rattle of Cyberweapons. The doors burst open inwards, and a guard staggered through, his tunic smoking, dead before he collapsed on the floor of the tracking room.

  The guards inside levelled their weapons—but before they could take aim across the crowded room, the tall figure of a Cyberman appeared.

  General Cutler wheeled round, and aimed his automatic at the Cyberman. The technicians ducked beneath their consoles as Cutler fired.

  The bullet hit the Cyberman’s front armour and ricocheted off with a slight clang. Then the Cyberman fired back.

  The rattle of the Cyberweapon was followed by a moment’s silence. Had the General been hit? His gun was still levelled: he seemed to be trying to focus... Then, as the others watched horrified, the tell-tale wisp of smoke crept from the collar of his tunic, his eyes clouded, and the gun dropped from his fingers.

  Almost in slow motion, the General’s long body fell forward to the floor in death.

  ‘Silence!’ The harsh voice of the Cyberman filled the room. ‘Anyone who moves will be killed instantly.’ He walked slowly and ponderously towards the centre of the tracking room. Behind him two more Cybermen entered, weapons levelled.

  The men in the room seemed this time frozen to the spot—like statues. The new Cyberleader, wearing a black helmet, loomed over them all with terrifying authority.

  The Doctor stepped forward. Immediately the Cyberleader swung round to face him, weapon levelled. The Doctor held up his hand.

  ‘Do not shoot. I wish to speak to you.’ He turned and pointed to Barclay and his two companions, who were still flanked by the two armed guards. ‘We owe our lives to you.’ He pointed down at the dead General Cutler. ‘This man was about to kill us.’

  Krang, the new Cyberleader, gestured at the guards with his Cyberweapon. ‘Drop your guns. They are useless against us.’

  Without hesitation, the two guards flung down their carbines and raised their hands.

  Krang pointed to the Doctor and his companions. ‘You four go over there and join the others.’

  The Doctor, Ben, Polly, and Barclay moved backwards with the two guards towards the end of the tracking room where the Cybermen were herding the base technicians.

  ‘That’s gratitude for yer!’ Ben had recovered his wits and voice. ‘We save their grotty planet—for what?’

  ‘Shh,’ whispered the Doctor. But it was too late. The Cybermen had heard. Krang turned to face them. ‘Saved Mondas? We do not believe you. We have seen a rocket missile aimed at Mondas.’

  Again the Doctor stepped forward, hands grasping the lapels of his long black cloak. ‘That is so. And we have prevented it being fired at you. We have therefore helped you. Now I suggest you help us in return.’

  Ben shrugged his shoulders and turned away in disgust. ‘You’re wasting your time talking to them geezers.’

  But the Cyberleader raised his hand for silence. ‘What do you ask in return for this?’

  The Doctor looked at him, his head tilted back, his authority—now that Cutler was gone—pre-eminent in the room. Even the technicians and guards hung on his every word, seeming to recognise that he was their new spokesman.

  ‘Your planet is finished. It will disintegrate. We know that is why you have come here. So why not stay and live in peace with us?’

  The impassive black mask of the Cyberman stared back at him. ‘We will confer,’ conceded Krang. ‘Keep your places. Anyone who moves will be killed instantly.’

  He motioned to the other two Cybermen and, together, they walked to the control end of the tracking room, and gathered behind Cutler’s console.

  Dyson turned nervously to the Doctor. ‘Can we trust them?’

  Ben shook his head gloomily. ‘You kidding? Course we can’t!’

  ‘Tch!’ The Doctor gestured nervously with his long hands. ‘It is all we can do. We must play for time.’

  The Cybermen now turned back towards the men.

  ‘Well?’ asked the Doctor. ‘What have you decided?’

  ‘We cannot talk while that missile is still aimed at Mondas. It must be disarmed first.’

  The Doctor held up his hand. ‘One moment.’ He turned and beckoned Dyson and Barclay towards him. As they put their heads together, he whispered, ‘Can you disarm the rocket?’

  Barclay nodded. ‘Why yes, Doctor, but...’

  The Doctor nodded. ‘Good, this will give us time.’

  Ben had also caught the Doctor’s remarks, and now nodded excitedly. ‘Time for Mondas to burn itself out?’ he asked in a hoarse whisper.

  The Doctor gave him a quick nod, flicked his finger to his lips for silence, and turned back again. ‘We have agreed to your terms,’ he called across the tracking room. ‘We will remove the warhead from the rocket.’

  ‘It must be removed below ground level.’

  For answer, the Doctor turned to Barclay. The physicist nodded. ‘It can be moved to the radiation room—the deepest room in the base.’

  ‘That will do,’ replied the Cybe
rleader. ‘And to make sure you do this, we will take a hostage.’ He pointed to Polly. ‘That girl will go to our space craft. You will go with the others to the rocket,’ he said to Ben and Barclay.

  ‘Doctor!’ exclaimed Polly, frightened.

  But the Doctor only shook his head. ‘We must do as they say—go, child.’

  ‘Not ruddy likely!’ Ben blurted out. He turned to the Cyberleader. ‘If you want a hostage, what about me?’

  ‘All the men are needed to help with the warhead.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Ben moved forward, threateningly. ‘Now look here. I say you’re not going to take her...’

  The Cyberleader raised his gun.

  The Doctor stepped forward, grasped Ben’s arm and eased him back. ‘Ben, please let me handle this.’

  ‘But, Doctor,’ protested Ben, ‘we can’t let Poll...’

  ‘It’s all right, Ben,’ Polly stepped forward. ‘Let the Doctor decide.’ She swallowed nervously. ‘If the Doctor wants me to go... at least it will be a new experience. I’ve never seen the inside of a Cybercraft.’

  The Doctor turned to the Cyberleader, his voice sharp and controlled. ‘Do you give us your word that she will be returned safely when the bomb is stowed away?’

  ‘Yes. I give you my word,’ replied the Cyberleader in his icy monotone.

  To her surprise, Polly had been blindfolded for the trip across to the spacecraft. Before leaving the base, she had put on one of the thick fur parkas worn by the guards. Now, seated in a small cabin aboard the Cybercraft, her blindfold removed, she felt extremely grateful for the thick Polar clothing.

  The chair to which she had been fastened by metal clamps across her waist and around her wrist, reminded her of an electric chair. She shuddered at the thought.

  The Cybercraft seemed to be unheated. Then she remembered that the Doctor had said that the Cybermen, being creatures of plastic and metal, not flesh and blood, would have no need of heat—they were impervious to heat and cold alike. But what about their human hostage? The South Pole ground temperature must be thirty or more below zero!

  As the cold began to chill her, she tried to move her arms—but the clamps held her firmly in place. She struggled and began to cry out. Suddenly, the door slid open and one of her tall silver guards stepped into the room. Realising it was useless to plead, she decided to bluster.