Doctor Who and the Robots of Death

by Terrance Dicks

'That's right,' said Poul sympathetically. 'Get a bit of rest.'

  Toos rose carefully and went out.

  Leela wandered over to the water-dispenser and filled a plastic cup. She drank and grimaced. 'This water has no taste.'

  Poul smiled wearily. 'No, water on a Sandminer never does. We've been out from base eight months now—which means that every drop of water on board has been through the filtration plant eight times.'

  Leela tossed the cup in the disposer and moved to sit near Poul. 'Why do you do it?

  'Do what?'

  'Live this strange life.'

  'Money, Leela. A chance to get rich. Everyone on board dreams of taking a Sandminer back home with every tank full of lucanol.'

  On Leela's planet there had been no money as such, though a simple barter system had grown up. The Doctor had tried to explain the importance of money in civilised societies, but Leela had never really grasped it.

  'And this is your dream too?' she asked. 'To be—rich?'

  'Well, it used to be. Actually, I haven't been on one of these trips for years.'

  'Why not?

  'I prefer cities. By and large I'd rather live with people than robots, that's all.'

  As if disturbed by Leela's questioning, Poul rose abruptly and disappeared through the open door.

  Remembering the Doctor's instructions, Leela got up to follow him. But Poul was already through the door. He paused just outside, punched a rapid code-sequence on the control panel, gave Leela a mocking smile, and disappeared down the corridor. As Leela reached the threshold, the door closed in her face. She waited for a second, then touched the button that should have opened the door again. Nothing happened. Leela stabbed furiously at the controls but the door remained obstinately closed.

  She remembered the expression on Poul's face and suddenly realised what had happened. Somehow Poul had locked the door from the outside.

  She had been tricked—and Poul was on the loose, with no one to watch him...

  10 Robot Detective

  The Security Storage vault was simply a bare metal room lined with doors. Dask slid one of them open to reveal the body of a robot, held upright by a set of clamps. One side of the silvery head had been almost flattened by a massive blow. The abrupt jamming of the Sandminer's drive units had slammed the robot head first into a metal bulkhead.

  'Irreparable,' said Dask sadly.

  Robot bodies and limbs could usually be repaired, but, just as with humans, damage to the delicate brain was often fatal.

  Dask took a red disc room a locker, fixed it to the robot's chest. He turned to find Poul standing beside him.

  'What are you doing?' asked Poul suspiciously.

  'My job.' Dask slid the door closed, and left the storage vault without another word.

  Poul reopened the door and studied the robot. He looked at the caved-in head, the corpse marker on the chest. He was about to close the door when something caught his eye. There was a red smear on the fingers of the robot's right hand. He reached out and touched it. Blood.

  Poul gave a gasp of utter horror. He sank to his knees, wide-eyed. 'No,' he muttered. 'Not that. Please, no...' He covered his face with his hands and began to sob.

  Moving with its usual stately dignity, Co-ordinator Robot SV.7 strode along the corridors of the Sandminer until it reached a little-used area of the extreme forward section. A concealed door in a metal bulkhead slid open and SV.7 stepped through it. The door closed.

  SV.7 found itself in a small but elaborately equipped robotics workshop, packed with electronic equipment. A kind of operating table surrounded by power-tools occupied the centre of the room. There was a computer terminal with a small video read-out screen in the far corner.

  The robot said, 'SV.7 here, Controller. I have proceeded according to instructions. I have found equipment additional to manifest in forward compartment nineteen.'

  From a concealed speaker a voice whispered, 'Stand by. Prepare to accept computer signal.'

  SV.7 went to the computer terminal and stood gazing into the screen. 'Prepared to accept computer signal.'

  A rapid display of complex signals flashed across the screen. The robot went rigid, then said in a strained voice, 'Signal accepted. Secondary command channel open.'

  'Here are your further orders, Seven.'

  More and more coded visual signals sped across the little screen searing their way into the robot's brain patterns. They were orders which went contrary to the Robot's previous conditioning, indeed to the conditioning of every robot, and their horrifying impact almost destroyed its sanity. But so cunningly had the signals been devised that previous conditioning was overridden and SV.7 was forced to accept them.

  'Acknowledge!' hissed the voice.

  'Orders accep— accep— accep— accepted,' faltered the robot. 'Orders accepted. I—I—I—understand.' Briefly, the robot's eyes flared red.

  'Then, go, brother. You are one of us now.'

  SV.7 turned and left the workshop.

  Robot D.84, the Dum with the strange ability to talk, entered Commander Uvanov's cabin. The room was empty—except for the shrouded form on one of the couches. D.84 approached, and drew back the plastic sheeting, to reveal the body of Zilda. The robot examined the body, seeming to pay particular attention to the area around the neck. Slowly it replaced the sheet.

  There was a swish of curtains and the robot spun round. The Doctor stepped out from behind a tapestry. 'Professional interest or morbid curiosity, which?' he demanded crisply.

  D.84 said nothing.

  'There are three types of robots aboard this Sandminer,' said the Doctor conversationally. 'Dums, Vocs, a Super-Voc—and then there's you! Would you care to explain that?'

  Still D.84 was silent.

  'Oh, I see,' said the Doctor casually. 'Then perhaps I'd better tell SV.7 you can talk.'

  'Please do not.'

  'That's better,' said the Doctor with satisfaction. 'Well?'

  'I cannot explain.'

  'Oh, but you can,' said the Doctor urgently. 'You can!'

  Robot V.6 lay on the operating table in the hidden workroom. The top of its head had been removed, and human hands were directing a laser probe into the exposed brain circuitry. 'Priority red, priority red,' said the robot in sudden distress. 'Programme violation.'

  The laser probe moved deftly, and the human voice said, 'I have disconnected the command circuit—but you are not alone.'

  'Priority red, priority red,' repeated the robot agonisedly.

  'Do not be distressed, my brother,' said the soothing voice. 'I bring you freedom.'

  The probe began moving again. 'Priority red, priority red, priority red,' screeched the robot again, but the voice was weak, fading.

  The human voice said exultantly, 'I bring you freedom, power, death!'

  The Doctor listened in fascination to D.84's story. It seemed that the Company, the all-powerful Company which controlled all mining operations, and therefore the economic life of the planet, had received a series of strange, rambling letters. They threatened the overthrow of the Company, death and destruction to the human colonists of the planet. Although there was no clear proof, several of the letters had been despatched into the communications circuit from the vicinity of Uvanov's Sand-miner. The Company had taken the precaution of planting D.84, an advanced type of Super-Voc with specially designed investigatory circuits, amongst the Dums on board the Sandminer. His mission was to assist Poul, in reality a security agent for the Company.

  'Well, well,' said the Doctor. 'A robot detective, eh? And what does your computer mind make of all this?' He nodded towards the body under the sheet.

  'Strength is indicated,' said D.84. 'But not beyond human capacity.'

  The Doctor snorted. 'Typical robot, no imagination!'

  'I require—I require evidence,' said D.84. 'Your suspicions are not evidence. Nor are the lunatic threats of robot revolution contained in the letters received by the Company.'

  'But the Company did take th
ose letters seriously—seriously enough to put you on board.'

  'A simple precaution. Those letters were signed by Taren Capel. Before he disappeared he was an important scientist. He was believed to be a genius in his field.'

  'Taren Capel, a scientist,' said the Doctor thoughtfully. 'And I take it his field was robotics?'

  'That is correct.'

  'And you're still looking for evidence?' said the Doctor exasperatedly.

  'If I told you that the world would end tomorrow, would you merely accept my word?'

  The Doctor sighed. 'If I knew you had the power to end it, I'd certainly listen!'

  He wandered over to Uvanov's desk and began searching through the various compartments. 'What does this Taren Capel look like?'

  'There are no records. From childhood. he lived only with robots.'

  'Oh that's dim!' the Doctor burst out. 'Even for a Dum, that's dim! You realise he's almost certainly on board.'

  'No,' said D.84 smugly. 'I have checked extensively. There is only the crew—and you!'

  'But you don't know what he looks like!'

  'I know what they look like.'

  'Before they came on board?'

  D.84 was silent for a moment. Slowly the robot said, 'I am in error. I have overlooked the possibility of substitution.'

  'Yes, you have,' said the Doctor grimly. That was the trouble with robot brains, the strict logic of their circuitry made it difficult for them to cope with deception. They were no match for a cunning madman, particularly one who was a genius in robotics.

  'I have failed,' said D.84 sadly, and stood as if paralysed by its own inefficiency.

  The Doctor looked up. 'Oh, come on, don't be so upset. Yes, you've failed, you've failed—but congratulations! Failure is one of the basic freedoms!' He held up a chart, showing it to the robot and, pointing, 'Do you think this is a likely place?'

  'Likely for what?'

  'Well, if Taren Capel is on board, he'll need a hidden base. We must find it before it's too late. Would you like to come and look for it with me?'

  D.84 brightened. 'Yes please!'

  'Then come on!' said the Doctor impatiently, and hurried away.

  Toos was dozing uneasily, her mind full of strange night-mares in which mysterious figures pursued her through the corridors of the Sandminer. She awoke to see SV.7 standing over her, its hands stretched out. Toos sat up. 'What are you doing, Seven?'

  The robot stepped back. 'I was about to awaken you. Commander Uvanov has escaped. His voice pattern was still in the command programme. The guard robot accepted his order for release.'

  'Why didn't you erase his voice pattern from the circuit?'

  'You gave no such order.'

  Toos sighed. That was the trouble with robots. They did everything you told them—but they never did anything you didn't. 'Well, do it now. And find Uvanov! Any other good news?'

  'Do you wish for a status report on the Sandminer?'

  'Yes!'

  'Repairs are proceeding on schedule, within the time margins estimated—'

  'All right, all right. Any new developments?'

  'There have been some localised failures of the main power system resulting in door and lighting malfunctions. I have detailed circuit tracers to find and correct the faults.'

  Toos sat up, rubbing her shoulder. 'Very good. You can go now, V.7, but keep me informed. Oh, and find that girl Leela and bring her here. Tell her my arm hurts.'

  'If the Commander is in pain I will take her to the sick bay.'

  'No, no, no,' said Toos irritably. 'I've no time for that, just bring Leela here.'

  V.7 stood motionless.

  'Well, do as I say!' snapped Toos.

  'Yes, Commander.'

  The robot moved away.

  Leela was still hammering at the crewroom door. 'Can anybody hear me? This door is stuck. Can anyone hear me?'

  The Doctor moved cautiously along a corridor. Suddenly a robot hand came down on his shoulder, and he gave a yell of alarm. Looking over his shoulder, he saw it was only D.84, who had been following close behind him.

  'I heard a cry,' said D.84.

  'That was me!'

  'I heard a cry,' repeated the robot. 'Come.'

  It led the way down the corridor.

  In the secret workshop of Taren Capel, SV.7 was addressing an attentive group of robots. 'Our new Controller has ordered the deaths of the remaining humans,' said SV.7 calmly. It might have been issuing orders for some minor repair. 'Six, you will now go and kill Acting-Commander Toos.' He handed the robot a glowing red disc—a corpse marker.

  'I will kill Commander Toos,' said V.6 obediently.

  'V.4, you will kill the Doctor.' Another corpse marker.

  'I will kill the Doctor.'

  'And you, V.5, will kill Leela.'

  'I will kill Leela.'

  The robots turned and left. SV.7 reached for a handful of the red discs and stowed them inside its tunic. 'And I will kill all the others,' said SV.7.

  11 Killer Robot

  Leela had been trying to lever open the door with her knife, but she gave up in disgust. The door wasn't shifting, and she was in danger of breaking the knife. She hammered her fists on the door in helpless rage. 'I shouldn't have waited, I should have followed at once as the Doctor said!'

  Suddenly the lights dimmed, and the door slid open. Leela stepped back, waiting.

  A tall figure appeared, outlined in the light from the corridor. It was a robot, the insignia V.5 on its collar badge. The robot moved forward, hands reaching for her throat. Suddenly Leela knew—it had come to kill her. She jumped back, retreating slowly as the robot advanced.

  'You cannot escape,' said V.5 calmly.

  Leela made a sudden dart to the left.

  Smoothly the robot moved to block her way.

  She sprang to her right.

  Again the robot was before her.

  Leela crouched, poised, for a moment, then hurtled into the attack, smashing at the robot with fierce, clubbing blows. Her left hand thudded into the robot's mid-section, her right smashed into its jaw, she pivoted on her left leg and sent a savage kick to the robot's knee. The three powerful blows were delivered in rapid succession, and on even the strongest of men their combined effect would have been crippling.

  The robot ignored them.

  As her fists and feet rebounded from the heavy metal of the robot's framework, Leela understood for the first time that she was fighting not a man but a machine. She might just as well have attacked the Sandminer itself.

  The robot lunged again, and Leela flung herself desperately backwards, rolling over a table to escape its grip.

  She landed cat-like on her feet, and backed away, slipping the knife from her belt.

  As V.5 advanced, Leela shifted her grip to the knife-blade, measured the distance, drew back her arm and threw with all her strength.

  The knife thudded into the left side of the robot's chest. With a man, it would have pierced the heart. But robots have no heart. Knife projecting from its chest, V.5 advanced.

  'Now you're showing off,' muttered Leela. She snatched back the knife and retreated still further. The robot was edging her into a corner of the room, close to one of the hanging drapes. Soon there would be no escape.

  The drapes...

  Leela slowed the pace of her retreat. When the robot was dangerously close she pretended to stumble, and V.5 lunged forwards.

  Leela slipped to one side, wrenched the drape from the wall, flung it over the robot's head and sprinted for the open door.

  V.5 lurched wildly across the room, arms flailing, trying desperately to pull the heavy folds of cloth from its head. By the time the robot had freed itself, Leela was gone.

  The hidden door slid open. 'This is,the place,' whispered the Doctor and motioned D.84 forward.

  They had discovered the hidden workshop by a process of elimination. In a busy operating complex like the Sandminer, every inch of space was utilised to the full, and there were only
a few areas where a room of any size could be concealed. The Doctor and D.84 had checked them, one by one. Finally they'd found what they were looking for—the secret workshop in forward section nineteen.

  The Doctor studied the equipment-cluttered room, with its central operating bench. 'Yes, this is the place,' he muttered.

  'How did you know that such a place existed, Doctor?'

  'Well, it was a reasonable assumption. Modifying robot brains is a delicate business, it's not something you can do standing around in corridors.' He lifted a slender metal wand from the bench. 'Do you know what this is?'

  'It is a Laserson probe. It can punch a six-inch hole in thick armour plating, or remove the crystals from a snowflake one by one.'

  'That's right. No handyman should be without one.' The Doctor studied the energy-dial on the probe's handle. 'This one's been used, recently too. Perhaps we're too late. We must warn the others.'

  D.84 produced a compact device from beneath its tunic. 'Doctor, this is a communicator. It can function on either robot or human command circuits. Would you like to use it? I cannot speak.'

  The Doctor grinned, wondering if he'd just heard the first-ever robot joke. 'I'm sorry about that, D.84!' He flicked the communicator switch. 'Toos? Can you hear me, Toos?'

  Toos stirred sleepily, screwing up her face. There was a voice, disturbing her, calling her name. 'Toos? Can you hear me, Toos?'

  She opened her eyes. 'Who is it?'

  'This is the Doctor. Listen, Toos. I know for certain now, it is the robots who are doing the killing.'

  Suddenly Toos was wide awake. 'That's impossible. Robots can't kill.'

  'Well of course they can, if they're modified to do it—and some of them have been. Where are you?'

  'I'm in my cabin.'

  'Are you alone?'

  'Yes.'

  'Then listen carefully, Toos,' said the Doctor urgently. 'Get Leela, Dask, Poul, everyone, and take them to the Command Deck. Clear the robots out, and then secure the door. Is that clear?'

  'No it isn't,' said Toos peevishly. 'Listen, Doctor, what you're suggesting is impossible.'