Shakedown Read online

  ‘The Sontarans can never defeat us. It is we who will win.’

  For thousands of years the Sontaran clone-warriors and the Rutan gestalt have fought each other across the galaxy. Now the Sontarans have a plan to strike at the heart of the Rutan Empire, and utterly defeat the Rutan race.

  The Doctor has his suspicions, but only one Rutan spy knows the Sontarans’ secret. He is being pursued from planet to planet by Cwej and Forrester and by a Sontaran hit squad. After a confrontation aboard the racing space-yacht Tiger Moth, the chase culminates on the library planet Sentarion — where Professor Bernice Summerfield’s researches into the history of the Sontaran/Rutan war turn into explosive reality.

  Shakedown — The Video

  This novel is an extension of Terrance Dicks’ story for the straight-to-retail video Shakedown, starring Carole Ann Ford and Sophie Aldred, who played the Doctor’s first and last companions in the television series, and Jan Chappell and Brian Croucher from television’s Blake’s 7.

  This book contains unique photographs taken during the shooting of the Shakedown video.

  Terrance Dicks is the elder statesman of Doctor Who. He was script writer of the television series for five years, and wrote more than sixty novelizations of Doctor Who television scripts. He is also a prolific and very popular author in other fields. Shakedown is his third New Adventure.

  ISBN 0 426 20459 X

  SHAKEDOWN

  Terrance Dicks

  Published in Great Britain in 1995 by

  Doctor Who Books

  an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd

  332 Ladbroke Grove

  London W10 5AH

  Copyright © Terrance Dicks 1995

  The right of Terrance Dicks to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  ‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © British Broadcasting Corporation 1995

  Cover illustration by Peter Elson

  The photographs, which were taken during the filming of Shakedown – The Return of the Sontarans by Robin Prichard, are printed courtesy of Dreamwatch.

  ISBN 0 426 20459 X

  Typeset by Galleon Typesetting, Ipswich

  Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham PLC

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  Contents

  Foreword

  Prologue

  BOOK ONE - BEGINNINGS

  1 - Ripper

  2 - Chief

  3 - Sentarion

  4 - Blasphemer

  5 - Meetings

  6 - Trackdown

  7 - Slaughter

  8 - Discovery

  9 - Crisis

  10 - Takeover

  BOOK TWO - SHAKEDOWN

  11 - Attack

  12 - Prisoners

  13 - Deal

  14 - The Hunt

  15 - Showdown

  BOOK THREE - AFTERMATH

  16 - Breakout

  17 - Flight

  18 - Revival

  19 - Sanctuary

  20 - Revelation

  21 - Assault

  22 - Payback

  Foreword

  In the seventies, before the magazine and BBC videos, much of what we knew about Doctor Who came from Terrance Dicks. In the first formative years of our enthusiasm for Doctor Who, the monthly trek to W. H. Smith’s to pick up Terrance’s latest Target book was time travel. A chance to relive favourite adventures or experience tales told before we were even born.

  That is why this feels so strange. We’ve been asked to write an introduction to Terrance’s latest book – time travelling once again into the New Adventures of the Doctor. Why us? Because of the straight-to-video film we made last year – unsurprisingly enough called Shakedown – The Return of the Sontarans.

  Tired of waiting for the Doctor to return to our television screens, we thought it would be nice to do a spin-off using elements of the series. Having been kindly permitted by the estate of the late, great Robert Holmes to use the Sontarans, albeit updated for the nineties, director Kevin Davies asked Terrance to write the script. This he was very happy to do, and threw himself into the production wholeheartedly (despite only having two weeks in which to complete it).

  Thanks to a fun, exciting script, and the dedicated hard work of many, many people too numerous to mention, Shakedown the video has been a resounding success – enjoyed by fans and press alike. (The Evening Standard called it ‘an action-packed sci-fi thriller’!)

  Understandably, this book contains more than just the script for a fifty-minute action drama. There’s the Doctor to be accommodated for a start. To make Shakedown a Doctor Who book, Terrance has effectively done both a prequel and a sequel to the video and you are holding the result. The video itself forms the middle section of the book, and we are just as intrigued as you are to discover the before and after – because Terrance won’t tell us!

  Enjoy the book. Please buy the video, so we can make another one (see advert at the end of the story for details on ordering). Let us know which monster you would like to see on the screen again.

  And don’t forget the critically acclaimed Making of Shakedown video, which contains exclusive interviews with the actors, as well as hilarious out-takes and a look behind the scenes of filming on HMS Belfast and at Pinewood studios.

  Meanwhile, it looks like it’s time to travel with Terrance again ...

  Jason Haigh-Ellery & Gary Leigh

  Associate & Executive Producers

  September, 1995

  Dedication

  To:

  Gary Leigh, Mark Ayres, Jason Haigh-Ellery

  and

  Kevin Davies

  Jan Chappell, Brian Croucher

  Carole Anne Ford, Sophie Aldred

  Rory O’Donnell, Toby Aspin, Tom Finnis

  and

  Michael Wisher

  Dave Hicks, Helly McGrother, Paige Bell

  and

  Ian Scoones

  and to everyone who worked so incredibly hard in making

  Shakedown – The Return of the Sontarans

  ‘The merely difficult we do at once –

  the impossible takes a little longer!’

  Prologue

  Kurt was on the run.

  He’d shaken off the customs-guards over by the landing bays. Now, almost invisible in black coveralls, he was slipping through the shadows, keeping to the darkness at the edge of the field.

  The spaceport, such as it was, consisted of a flattened rock-plain, bordered by a high perimeter fence of rusting razor-wire. A group of low stone buildings huddled together at its centre. By night it was a bleak, unfriendly place. Black clouds obscured the planet’s twin moons, and a cold wind howled between straggling rows of grounded space-freighters.

  Kurt had been unlucky this trip, caught with a faked cargo manifest and a hold full of forbidden jekkarta weed. The newly colonized frontier planet was largely agricultural, and the ever-spreading jekkarta plant had long been the bane of its farmers.

  Then some enterprising visitor discovered that, dried and smoked, jekkarta was a mild euphoric with almost no side-effects. The back-country farmers were astonished at the amount that off-planet traders would pay in good credits for the weeds they’d been raking out and burning at every harvest.

  It surprised
the Colony government too – but they soon recovered, slapped a massive duty on jekkarta weed and limited its export. Prices rose, the government, not the farmers, grew rich, and the smugglers moved in.

  Most of them were small-timers, landing battered space-hoppers in remote valleys, doing petty, low-budget deals with nervous farmers. Kurt liked to operate with a little more class. He’d chartered an ancient but perfectly legitimate space-freighter and purchased a cargo of lenta, the tasteless but nutritious green bean that was the planet’s main export.

  With the help of a network of bribed spaceport loaders and officials, the cargo of lenta had magically become dried jekkarta – thousands of kilos of it, flown out under the nose of the customs, to a ready market on any one of a hundred planets.

  At least, that was how it was supposed to be. The scam had already worked perfectly twice. This third and last cargo would fetch millions of credits – enough to bring Kurt the respectable trader’s life he always claimed to crave.

  Then it had all gone wrong. Just before blast-off an electrical fire in the power-room had spread to the cargo-hold. The thick, pungent smoke drifting out from the ship had produced some of the happiest cargo-loaders in the planet’s history. An over-observant, and over-honest, young customs officer had done the rest.

  Kurt wasn’t too worried. He was heading for a service-gate in the perimeter fence, left open by a friendly, well-bribed cargo-loader. The profits from the first two trips were safely banked in a coded account on Algol III – except for a substantial slice in the money-belt beneath his coveralls. He’d lie low for a few days in the back-alleys of Port City. It was pretty much of a hell-hole, but anywhere was tolerable with enough credits and he could do with a rest. Then he’d buy a new identity and a passage off-planet. If things calmed down enough, he might even manage to bribe his freighter and his cargo free again.

  At least, that was how it was supposed to be. But as Kurt headed for the gate and freedom, disaster dropped out of the sky.

  With a roar of retro-rockets a shuttle craft landed directly ahead of him. With astonishing speed a door opened, a ramp slid down and squat figures in space armour descended and fanned out. To his amazement, Kurt saw that other craft were landing all over the field, each one spewing out its quota of stocky figures, all armed with a variety of unpleasant-looking weapons.

  Whatever was happening, Kurt decided, he wanted no part of it. But he had hesitated too long. A beam of light caught and held him and a voice blared, ‘Stop! Do not move or you will be killed.’

  Wearily Kurt held up his hands. ‘All right, all right, no need to get nasty. Go ahead with your invasion, it’s nothing to do with me. I don’t even live here. I’m just a peaceful off-planet trader on his way home to bed.’

  ‘You are our prisoner,’ said the guttural voice. ‘You will come with us.’

  Kurt lay on the cell’s hard wooden bunk for what felt like for ever, listening to the confused sounds drifting in from outside. There were a few shouts, the odd crackle of blaster-fire, occasionally the boom of some heavy weapon. Then silence.

  The bit of the invasion he’d actually witnessed had been carried out with ruthless military efficiency. The Colony militia wouldn’t stand up to that sort of thing for very long. By now, guessed Kurt, the invaders must have taken over the spaceport, and presumably most of the planet as well. As far as Kurt was concerned they were welcome to it. He just wanted to establish his status as not-so-innocent bystander and clear out. After a while he drifted into sleep.

  When he awoke it was morning and he had company.

  A smallish man in a crumpled white suit and a battered hat was perched on the end of the bunk.

  ‘Morning,’ said the newcomer politely.

  Kurt grunted. ‘Is it?’

  ‘Not at your best before breakfast?’ said the little man sympathetically. ‘I know how you feel. Never mind, I’m sure it’s on the way. Coffee, toast and marmalade, bacon and eggs and a spot of kedgeree and you’ll feel a new man.’

  Kurt rose and stretched. ‘What do you think this is, the Intergalactic Hilton? We’ll be lucky if they feed us at all.’

  ‘Surely we get the traditional hearty breakfast?’

  ‘Traditional for who?’

  ‘Condemned men?’

  There was a clanking in the corridor outside the cell and the door was unlocked from outside. An armed guard pulled open the door and stepped aside. An enormous anthropoid creature entered, stooping to get through the entrance. It was carrying an iron bucket in each hand. The left-hand bucket was filled with green sludge from which projected the handle of a ladle. The right-hand one held wooden bowls and wooden spoons.

  Kurt studied the creature with mild interest. He’d never seen one so close before. It was a Jekkari, the native species of the planet. The Jekkari lived in the forests that covered most of the planet’s surface – the forests the colonists were clearing for their crops. Most of the dispossessed Jekkari simply retreated into the forests. Some, however, seemed fascinated by the colonists, hanging around their farms and camps.

  The colonists had shot quite a few of them before realizing they were completely harmless. Now they used them as low-grade servants. The tame Jekkari were incredibly strong, and they could easily be trained to perform simple tasks. Best of all they worked for nothing.

  The creature set the buckets on the floor, took two empty bowls from the right-hand bucket and put two wooden spoons beside them. It used the ladle from the left-hand bucket to fill the two bowls with sludge. All the while it was looking at Kurt’s companion, a strange intensity in its great dark eyes.

  To Kurt’s astonishment, the little man reached out and took the Jekkari’s giant hand. His fingers drummed on the black and velvety palm in a complex tattoo.

  The guard appeared in the doorway. ‘C’mon, hurry it up, boy.’

  The Doctor had already released the Jekkari’s hand. It picked up the buckets and left the cell.

  ‘Eat hearty,’ said the guard. ‘Trial’s starting before very long.’ He turned to go.

  ‘Hey, listen,’ yelled Kurt. ‘What the hell’s going on? How can you have a trial in the middle of an invasion?’

  ‘Invasion’s over,’ said the guard. ‘We’ve gotta new government, very keen on law and order. They’ll sort you two out all right.’ He slammed the cell door and locked it.

  Kurt looked curiously at his companion. ‘What was all that business –’

  The little man shook his head, putting a finger to his lips.

  Kurt shrugged, and picked up his bowl of sludge and his wooden spoon. He sipped the sludge. ‘Lenta stew. Contains all the elements of nutrition necessary for health – so they say.’

  His companion did the same and shuddered. ‘And absolutely none of the ones necessary for pleasure.’

  ‘You get used to it,’ said Kurt indifferently. ‘Cheap, nutritious, with a mild sedative effect. Standard fare in a lot of jails.’

  ‘You seem to know all about it.’

  ‘I’ve been in a lot of jails.’ Kurt looked after the departed guard. ‘That guy must have changed sides pretty quickly.’

  ‘If you spend your life locking people up, I don’t suppose it matters too much who you’re locking them up for. Besides, the Sontarans have very efficient methods of recruiting local help.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘You work for them or they kill you.’

  ‘Who did you say they were?’

  ‘The Sontarans. Best summed up by the philosopher Hobbes’s description of the Life of Man – nasty, brutish and short. They’re an intensely militaristic species – they live for war. They reproduce by cloning, a million warriors at a time.’

  Kurt remembered the stocky armoured figures, swarming out of their battlecraft and spreading out with deadly efficiency.

  ‘You’d think the galaxy would be overrun with them.’

  ‘They’re tied up in a war with their old enemies the Rutans.’

  ‘So what do the Sontarans w
ant with this planet?’

  ‘I rather think they must be setting up a cordon sanitaire around their home world.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A protective zone. If they’re attacked they’ll fight the war here, and on other planets like it. The planets in the zone will be devastated but the home world will stay secure.’

  Kurt nodded, absorbing the information.

  After a moment his companion went on, ‘I don’t want to pry, but what brings you to this delightful spot?’

  ‘I’m a smuggler,’ said Kurt cheerfully. He explained about the ill-fated cargo of jekkarta weed. ‘And you?’

  ‘Just a wandering scholar, interested in other life-forms. I’d been out in the forests, living with the Jekkari. When I came back to Port City, the planet had changed hands.’

  ‘You were living with the Jekkari?’

  The other nodded.

  ‘But they’re just animals – apes,’ protested Kurt. ‘They don’t even talk.’

  ‘Silence doesn’t always imply stupidity, you know,’ said his companion sharply. ‘Sometimes just the opposite. The Jekkari live in houses in the trees, whole villages of them. They’re vegetarians, they don’t like killing and they hate machines. They have an excellent civilization of their own, one that suits them, and suits the planet. Or at least, they used to –’

  ‘– until the colonists came,’ said Kurt. ‘And now the Sontarans. Looks like your Jekkari have had it, one way or another.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said the little man mysteriously. ‘Sometimes two wrongs can add up to a right.’

  Kurt gave him a baffled look. ‘OK, so you’ve been living up a tree with the Jekkari. How come you ended up in jail?’

  ‘According to the Sontarans, I’m a spy.’

  ‘And are you?’

  ‘Who, me? Do I look like a spy? I’m a simple scholar, spending my life in the search for knowledge.’