Doctor Who - [083] - [Target Novel 09] -The Android Invasion Page 2

  "Are you serious, Doctor?"

  The Doctor shrugged. "I'm just trying to build a theory that fits all the facts as we know them. It's only a guess, mind you -"

  "Well, it's a pretty nasty one." Sarah heard a noise and looked out of the window. "Hey, Doctor, look! The village isn't deserted any more."

  The Doctor came to join her. Four white-overalled figures were moving down the center of the street, a fifth, uniformed figure walking just behind them. As the little group moved nearer, the fifth figure came into view. Sarah gasped. "No... it can't be... it can't!"

  The fifth man wore the uniform of a corporal in the British Army. It was the soldier they'd seen in the woods a little earlier. The one who'd marched straight over the edge of a cliff.

  Sarah stared unbelievingly at him. There was no mark on his face, no spasmodic clenching of the hands, no trace of a limp, as he marched along the empty street. He was a dead man walking, apparently none the worse for a fall that should have shattered every bone in his body.

  "He was dead," whispered Sarah. "We saw him..." She backed away from the window, and caught the edge of a table. A glass crashed to the floor."

  The little group outside suddenly paused, their heads swinging round in uncanny unison.

  "They heard me," whispered Sarah.

  The Doctor shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Look."

  An army truck was trundling slowly along the high street with about two dozen people in the back. There were both men and women, some young, some middle-aged. They sat bolt-upright on hard wooden benches, staring straight ahead of them. They looked like shop-window dummies, thought Sarah, or a load of wax figures being taken to the museum. The truck came to a halt outside the pub. For a second nobody moved. Then, as if obeying some secret signal, they, all rose, climbing stiffly down from the truck. Once on the ground they scattered, most of them heading for the shops and houses along the high street. About a dozen of the men stayed together in a group. Still moving with that frightening, silent unanimity, they began marching towards the pub.

  Sarah pointed. "That man in front, the one in the checkered sports jacket. That's Mr. Morgan, the landlord."

  The Doctor was already looking for a place to hide. Not behind the bar, someone would be bound to go through there... He spotted a little door in the wall, just beside the bar flap. Seizing Sarah's arm he hurried her towards it.

  They found themselves in a tiny storeroom, not much bigger than a cupboard. It was stacked high with empty beer crates and cracker tins. A second door opened on to a rear corridor. The Doctor closed the door to the bar, leaving a crack so they could see into the room.

  The front door opened, and a group of men came in. The mysteriously revived soldier came in with them. As if following some prearranged plan, each man moved swiftly to a specific position, some standing against the bar, others sitting at the tables. Morgan went behind the bar and stood with his hand resting on a beer-pump. The Corporal leaned on the bar in front of him.

  When everyone was in position, the scene froze. The men stood quite still staring ahead of them. They looked like people posing for one of those old-fashioned photographers, thought Sarah, in the days when you had to stand perfectly still for several minutes. Or like actors, waiting for their cue. So complete was the silence that Sarah could hear a faint whirring, clicking noise, the sound a clock makes just before it strikes. She looked at the big old-fashioned clock. It was a few seconds before twelve o'clock. Suddenly the big hand jerked and the first chime rang out.

  Immediately the bar came to life. Morgan reached for. a glass, pulled back the beer handle, and served a pint of beer to the waiting Corporal. All over the room men reached for their glasses. There was a low rumble of conversation. A couple of men started playing darts, and at the corner table two others got on with their game of dominoes. Everything was utterly, shatteringly normal.

  The Doctor studied the scene for a moment, then pulled the storeroom door closed. "Extraordinary. Quite extraordinary,"

  "What's the matter with them all?" whispered Sarah.

  "I don't know—but I intend to find out."

  "How?"

  "The Space Research Station. I think UNIT are responsible for security there. Maybe they'll. have some answers."

  (UNIT was the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, to which the Doctor was loosely attached as Scientific Adviser,)

  "And what do I do?"

  "Keep an eye on things here. You'll be all right."

  "I've heard that one before!"

  The Doctor slipped the TARDIS key-chain from around his neck, and handed it to Sarah. "Can you find your way back to the TARDIS?"

  "Of course I can."

  "If anything goes wrong, meet me there." He opened the rear door, slipped out into the corridor and disappeared.

  'Typical," thought Sarah bitterly. "Goes off and leaves me to it just when things are getting tricky." What was she supposed to do now? "Keep an eye on things" was a pretty vague instruction.

  In the bar everyone was still chatting amiably. The Corporal finished his pint, and pushed his mug across the bar for another one. As Morgan began refilling it, the Corporal glanced idly round the bar—and caught sight of the handle of the storeroom door. It was moving, and as he watched, the door opened the merest crack.

  He stepped swiftly across the bar, caught hold of the handle and jerked the door fully open. Sarah was revealed, standing on the threshold. All conversation cut off immediately, and everyone in the bar swung round to look at her.

  Sarah decided that since she'd been discovered she might as well try to bluff her way through. She stepped bravely into the bar. "Afternoon everyone!" She looked up at the clock. "Well, just about afternoon anyway." She moved over to the bar. "Hullo, Mr. Morgan. You remember me, don't you? Sarah Jane Smith. I'm a journalist. I came here on a story a couple of years ago."

  Morgan didn't say anything. No one said anything. They just stood silently looting at her. There was a kind of threat in the silence, and Sarah felt a growing sensation of unease. "Well, somebody say something."

  It was the Corporal who spoke at last, "Who sent you here? What do you want? How did you get here?"

  Sarah didn't want to get into involved explanations about the TARDIS. "I walked."

  "Where have you come from? Why are you here?"

  The succession of questions began to fray Sarah's nerves. She turned angrily to Morgan. "Do you let him grill all your customers like this? Just because he's in the Army..."

  Morgan said heavily, "We don't have strangers here." He spoke as if repeating some kind of universally accepted law.

  "That ridiculous. This place is always full of tourists."

  The Corporal began moving purposefully towards Sarah, reaching out as if to take her arm. As Sarah backed away Morgan said, "Corporal Adams, wait. She may be part of the test."

  Adams nodded, and stepped back.

  Sarah was beginning to feel trapped in some endless nightmare, "Test? What test?"

  Adams looked at Morgan. "She does not know."

  "Look, what's going on here?" demanded Sarah. "What don't I know?"

  "Perhaps they would not have told her," said Morgan slowly. He turned back to Sarah. "I think you'd better go, miss."

  "Why?"

  "It might be best."

  Sarah looked round the circle of blank, silent faces. "Look, if there's some sort of trouble here, why not tell me about it? Perhaps I can help"

  No one spoke. Sarah shrugged and moved towards the door. "Well, I intend to find out anyway." She looked at Corporal Adams, unable to resist a parting shot. "As for you, I'm sure you shouldn't be drinking, so soon after breaking your neck!" With that, Sarah marched out of the bar.

  For a moment the silent figures stared after her. Then they jerked into life, and the babble of conversation struck up again. Morgan filled Corporal Adam's mug and pushed it across the bar. Adams paid for his beer, and took an appreciative swig. Just a normal morning in an English cou
ntry pub.

  * * *

  Sarah marched indignantly down the village street, wondering what everyone was playing at. She decided to follow the Doctor to the Space Research Center and insist on some explanation. By now her journalist's instincts were .fully roused. Something very odd was happening in this picturesque little village, and there had to be a story in it.

  As she came level with the parked army truck, a white-clad figure stepped out from behind it. Coming forward, it raised the dark visor on its helmet. Sarah stopped, looking curiously at its face. But there was no face—the space beneath the visor was dark and empty. The thing was headless, yet it was stalking towards her. In blind terror, Sarah turned and ran.

  The Watcher

  The Doctor walked confidently up to the main gate of the Space Research Center. It was a vast, sprawling, ultra-modern building, all glass and concrete. A forest of weirdly shaped aerials sprouted from its roof, which was dominated by a huge saucer-shaped radar dish. The Center had its own rocket landing field close by, and the whole complex was enclosed by a high wall. Usually the main gate was almost excessively well-guarded. It was impossible to get inside without much flashing of top-secret passes, and the Doctor was quite prepared to have to talk his way in. But to his astonishment he found the main gates standing open, with no sentry in sight. The whole place seemed deserted. Puzzled, the Doctor went up the front steps and through the main doors.

  * * *

  The scanner room lay in the very heart of the Space Research Center. It was packed with complex instruments which monitored the surrounding countryside and reached far out into deep space.

  A white-coated figure was hunched over a central control console, headphones over his ears. Grierson was chief technician at the Center, a burly figure who looked more like an engineer than a scientist. He was listening intently, a worried frown on his face. After a moment he took off the earphones and straightened up. He hesitated for a moment, then his finger stabbed at a button. Immediately, the face of a man in his forties appeared on a monitor screen. He looked worn and haggard and he wore a black patch over his left eye. "Well, what is it now, Grierson? You know I'm busy."

  "Sorry to disturb you, Commander Crayford. But I've got a strange audio response on the ground scanner. Some kind of energy-source."

  The monitor went dark, and a few minutes later Crayford hurried in. He wore the simple military-style uniform of the newly created Space Service. "All right, let's have a listen."

  Grierson handed him the headphones. "I reckon it's a power-frequency of some kind, sir."

  Crayford listened for a moment, then took off the headset. "Turn it to maximum." A steady, resonant pinging sound came through a nearby loudspeaker, "Any movement?"

  "No, sir, it's quite stationary."

  Crayford studied a display panel. "Seems to be about a mile away. When was the last scan?"

  "About three hours ago, sir. It was negative then."

  Gently Crayford rubbed his eye-patch. "Some kind of machine..."

  "It must be a spacecraft, sir. Come down since the last scan."

  Crayford shook his head. "The detectors would have picked it up."

  "If it is a spacecraft, it could have its own jamming equipment."

  Crayford switched off the speaker. "A spacecraft... No, it's just not possible." But his tone was less positive now.

  Encouraged, Grierson said, "We've never picked up anything like it before, sir. It's got to be something external. That's why I thought I'd better call you."

  "It may be some kind of test," said Crayford thoughtfully. "Something they've arranged without telling me, just to keep us on our toes. Can you fix its precise position?"

  "Not from here, sir. We'd have to send out a mobile scanner and take a cross-bearing."

  Crayford considered. "No need for that yet. I'll report it. There may be some perfectly simple explanation."

  Grierson returned to his control console. "Very good, sir,"

  With a last worried look at the instrument panel, Crayford hurried away.

  * * *

  The Doctor came to a door with a notice on it. "Inner Security Area. No Entry Without Proper Authority. All Passes Must Be Shown." Unhesitatingly, the Doctor flung open the door— and found himself facing an armed sentry standing rigidly to attention.

  "Hullo there," said the Doctor. "Where can I find your Commanding Officer?"

  The soldier said nothing. Rifle on shoulder, trousers creased, boots gleaming, he stood rigidly to attention like one of the guards outside Buckingham Palace, forbidden to react, whatever the tourists say or do. The Doctor stared into the man's face. It was completely immobile, the eyes glazed. Somehow the sentry looked—switched off. The Doctor frowned. "Well, I'll tell you what, perhaps I needn't bother you. I'll just go and find him myself." The Doctor moved away. Slowly, very slowly, the sentry turned his head to look after him.

  * * *

  Sarah had run clear out of the village, and was back in the shelter of the woods. Too tired to run further, she hurried on as quickly as she could, heading for the clearing where they'd left the TARDIS. She reached it at last, and leaned against its comforting blue bulk, gasping for breath. Whatever was going on in this sinister place Sarah wanted nothing more to do with it. She was going to wait in the TARDIS until the Doctor turned up and took her to safety. Or more likely, took her somewhere even more dangerous, thought Sarah gloomily. Still for the moment at least she was safe. She slipped the TARDIS key from around her neck and turned it in the lock. She was about to open the door when something caught her eye. Close to the TARDIS, half-sunk in the soft earth of the forest, lay one of the strange long, coffin-shaped rocks, like the one they'd seen in the quarry. But this one was still intact. Sarah hesitated, but her curiosity was too strong for her. She went over to the canister and bent to examine it. Like the other, it had a scarred rock-like surface—and it was warm to the touch, Suddenly she heard a familiar groaning, wheezing noise behind her. She spun round and the TARDIS dematerialized before her eyes. "No, Doctor!" she yelled. "Doctor, don't leave me." But the TARDIS was gone.

  Sarah stared in amazement at the space where it had stood. "He can't have gone," she thought dazedly. "I just don't believe it." She was certain the Doctor wouldn't just go off and abandon her. But if the doctor wasn't inside, who or what had moved the TARDIS? She rubbed her hand over her eyes, wondering what on earth she should do.

  Meanwhile, something was happening to the canister. A seam cracked open all along its length, and the upper half sprang silently open like a lid. A hand flopped out of the gap, catching Sarah on the leg. She screamed and jumped back.

  The hand didn't move again, and Sarah studied it cautiously. It was certainly human, and by the looks of it, female. Cautiously she came forward and lifted the canister lid fully open. Lying inside, looking uncannily like a laid-out corpse, was a woman in her fifties. She was neatly and plainly dressed in a simple tweed suit, and looked exactly like the kind of middle-aged lady you'd see shopping in any main street. So, what was she doing in the middle of a wood, lying inside a meteorite?

  The woman's eyes flicked open and she stared up at Sarah. Sarah felt she ought to say something, but could only manage a stammered, "Can I help you?"

  She bent over the canister, wondering whether to help the woman out or leave her where she was. She touched the woman's shoulder, and two hands shot up and caught her by the throat. Sarah grabbed the woman's wrists and tried to pull her hands away, but despite her age her attacker was tremendously powerful. With a desperate wrench, Sarah pulled free and backed away, gasping.

  The woman sat up. Slowly, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sarah, she began climbing out of the canister. Sarah found that the problem of what to do next had been solved. For the second time that day she turned and ran for her life.

  * * *

  Crayford's office was large, spacious, and ultra-modern in design. It had an empty, unused feel, as though no one had moved in yet. Crayford came into the room,
and sat down behind the desk. Chin in hands he gazed blankly ahead of him, as if not entirely sure who he was, or what he was doing there. After a moment he began rubbing nervously at the black patch over his left eye.

  A voice spoke from a concealed speaker. "Crayford! Crayford, I say!" The voice was deep and throaty, with a kind of gurgle in it. It was not a human voice.

  "Crayford jerked upright. "Yes, Styggron?"

  "I ordered all units to recharge stations. The order is not being completely observed."

  "I'm sorry, Styggron, I don't understand."

  "We have detected movement within the complex," growled the alien voice impatiently. "Another unit may have gone random."

  "But the Corporal Adams unit has been recovered and repaired—" began Crayford.

  "Check and report." There was total arrogance in the alien voice, as if it was inconceivable that its orders should be disobeyed, or even questioned.

  Crayford jumped to his feet. "Immediately, Styggron." He hurried from the office.

  As he came out into the corridor, he saw a tall figure turning the corner. Immediately, Crayford ducked back out of sight. He hurried to the desk and snatched a revolver from a drawer, then hid himself behind the half-open office door.

  The Doctor came into the office and looked round. He moved over to the desk and began leafing through the pile of papers. Crayford stepped out of hiding. "Keep your hands where I can see them, please."

  The Doctor turned round. "Now those are the friendliest words I've heard since I got here."

  "Yes, I'm sure. And just how did you get here?"

  "Oh, I just dropped in," said the Doctor vaguely. "I do from time to time, you know." He picked up a map from the desk and began studying it with interest.

  Crayford took a pace forward and snatched the map from the Doctor's hands, tossing it on the desk. "I can get the truth from you."

  "But you're getting it," said the Doctor mildly. "Who are you, by the way?"

  "I'm the one holding the gun—and asking the questions."