Doctor Who: Ribos Operation (3 page)

‘Right, down you go, my lad,’ said Garron eagerly.

Unstoffe swallowed hard. ‘But... but it might have smelt us
up here,’ he stammered. ‘It might not have touched the... the
meat... It might just be waiting there... for me.’

Garron eased the rope-ladder out of his friend’s frozen
hands and dropped it into the shaft. ‘Trust me,’ he hissed.

‘Why... why don’t you go down,’ Unstoffe suddenly
demanded.

Garron patted his own vast fur-clad bulk. ‘And if I got stuck
in there?’ he retorted. ‘Then where would we be?’

Unstoffe was about to reply that at least he would know
where he would be, but he thought better of it and said nothing.

‘All our plans...’ Garron pleaded. ‘It’s all worked out; don’t
lose heart now, my boy.’ He nearly added that at Unstoffe’s age
he had revelled in real danger, but he thought better of it and
just gave a wink of encouragement instead.

Unstoffe did not move. Garron glanced up at the sky: the
light was fading rapidly. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘that creature must be
out for the count. it’s as quiet as the grave down there... In a
manner of speaking,’ he added with a forced chuckle. Then he
pulled back his shaggy sleeve, exposing a small device
resembling a wrist watch strapped to his forearm. ‘And
remember, we’ll be in constant touch,’ he said, patting Unstoffe’s
sleeve. Reluctantly, Unstoffe swung himself onto the swaying
ladder and prepared to climb down into the shaft.

‘You’ve got the Jethryk?’ Garron whispered. Unstoffe
nodded, pointing to the large leather pouch clipped, to his belt.
‘Guard it with your... just remember its value, my lad,’ Garcon
muttered, hastily correcting himself. Unstoffe grunted vaguely,
and began to lower himself timidly into the narrow shaft. Within
seconds he was swallowed up by the silent darkness.

When Unstoffe had almost reached the bottom of the ladder
he paused and listened. From somewhere very close to him
there carne a deep, regular breathing which made the air in the
shaft vibrate. He convinced himself that it was the sound of
heavily drugged slumber, and gingerly crept down the last few
rungs. To his relief the ladder just reached far enough down for
him to have to jump only the last metre onto the flagstones. He
landed without a sound and made towards the faint rectangle of
light beneath the shutter leading into the Relic Chamber.

Suddenly a warm sour breath on the side of his face stopped
him in his tracks. With racing heart he slowly turned his head
and peered into the gloom. A colossal shape lay slumped against
the far wall of the antechamber: a huge reptilian body covered
in thick overlapping scales like armour-plate which slid back and
forth over each other as the creature’s vast flanks rose and fell.
The long alligator head lay on one side, its half-open jaws
bristling with razor-sharp and blood-stained teeth. A huge bone,
picked clean and glistening, lay beside the monstrous lolling
tongue.

Unstoffe shuddered. Then, reassured by the creature’s
rhythmical breathing, he pulled himself together and darted
through into the Relic Chamber. Going straight to the cabinet he
took a diamond glass-cutter and a large suction cup from his
pouch. Licking his finger, he ran it round the rim of the rubber
cup and then pressed it firmly against the centre of the main
glass panel. It stuck fast. With careful practised movements he
then began to score the edges of the panel with the diamond,
just where they joined the solid wooden framework of the
display case. As he worked he frequently paused to check the
sound of breathing from the antechamber.

He knew that he had very little time...

Unstoffe eased the metre-square sheet of thick glass out of its
frame and set it carefully down against the Relic Cabinet. Then
he took from his pouch a jagged lump of crystalline rock the size
of a grapefruit, and placed it among the clusters of precious
stones and jewelled ornaments so that it was clearly visible but
not too conspicuous. In the light from the single globe above the
cabinet the jagged nugget glowed a deep indigo, shot with a
honeycomb of filigree silver veins. Beads of sweat glistened on
Unstoffe’s crafty young face as he stepped back, and then leaned
forward again to adjust the position of the hunk of Jethryk.

Suddenly a shrill bleeping made him jump with momentary
terror. Swallowing hard, Unstoffe pulled back the sleeve of his
fur tunic and hissed, ‘What is it Garron?’ into the tiny radio
strapped to his wrist. Then he flicked a microswitch and put the
device to his ear. For several seconds he heard nothing but the
hiss of static.

‘“Over”...my boy. You have to say “over”,’ came Garron’s
faint voice through the crackling.

‘Listen, I’m five metres away from a doped carnivore, so just
tell me what you want,’ Unstoffe muttered into the microphone.

‘Oh I do wish I was there with you, my lad,’ Garron
crackled. ‘It all sounds so exciting. Unfortunately, I’ve got to
leave now.’

Unstoffe glanced uneasily towards the dark rectangle under
the raised shutter: ‘What? Leave me down here?’ he croaked.
‘Why?’

‘The Graff Vynda Ka is arriving,’ Garron explained
patiently.

‘The who?’ Unstoffe croaked, the sweat oozing out of his
scalp and trickling through his lank hair onto his scrawny neck.

‘The Graff Vynda Ka—I have to go and meet him,’ Garron
enunciated slowly, as if he were speaking to a foreigner or an
idiot.

‘It’s all right for some people,’ Unstoffe retorted.

There was a brief mush of static, and then Garron’s voice
came hissing through. ‘Look, this isn’t going to be a doddle for
me either,’ he answered faintly. ‘The Graff has just come down
scarcely three kilometres outside the walls in a Levithia Class
Stellacruiser on full retro-thrust. About as discreet as the
Spithead Review.’

‘The what?’ Unstoffe whispered.

At that moment the massive creature in the antechamber
shifted its heavy serrated tail against the flagstones with a harsh
leathery rasping sound. Unstoffe’s heart began to hammer
against his scantily covered ribcage.

‘We must stick to the plan now...’ Garron crackled urgently.
‘Remember... we mustn’t be seen together... not until all this is
over and done with...’

‘But... but where shall we meet?’ Unstoffe muttered in a
panicky stammer. He put his lips very close to the device fixed
round his wrist. ‘Here Garron, you wouldn’t be thinking of
double-crossing me would you?’ he croaked suspiciously.

But there was no reply: only the hiss of static from the tiny
speaker. Cold shudders flew along Unstoffe’s spine as a raucous
growling suddenly burst from the antechamber. Seizing the glass
panel, he struggled to ease it back into position in the frame of
the Relic Cabinet with violently trembling hands, while from the
darkness the huge beast’s breathing grew more and more alert...

The Doctor stood motionless at the control console gloomily
staring at the bleeping Locatormutor Core.
Romanadvoratrelundar stood opposite, watching him with faint
amusement.

‘It’s hopeless,’ the Doctor eventually sighed, ‘we’ll never get
on together.’

‘Oh yes we will,’ his new assistant said soothingly. ‘You’re
just suffering from a transitory hypertoid syndrome with multi-encephalogical flaxions.’

‘And what is that supposed to mean?’ retorted the Doctor,
still staring thoughtfully at the console.

‘You’re sulking,’ came the smugly prompt reply. ‘You will
make a most interesting case-study for my thesis when I return
to Gallifrey.’

The Doctor thrust his face towards the Vector Display in
front of him. He watched it without speaking for several
minutes. ‘You won’t be going back to Gallifrey... not for quite
some time,’ he suddenly snapped, brushing rudely past his
assistant and starting to re-programme the Helmic Orientator.
‘For the moment you’ll be going to the planet Ribos...’

‘Ribos?’ Romanadvoratrelundar echoed. ‘The Segment is
there?’

The Doctor nodded. ‘Assuming that this gadget of yours is
working properly.’ He gestured towards the Display: ‘The
vectors have not changed for the past hour.’

‘Then we must go there at once,’ Romanadvoratrelundar
cried eagerly. The Doctor said nothing. ‘Why should there be
any delay?’ she demanded.

The Doctor turned to her irritably. ‘If the vectors were to
alter while the TARDIS is in vortex... we might lose the bearing
on that Segment for ever,’ he retorted.

‘We must take a chance,’ his assistant said firmly.

The Doctor spun round again. ‘I’ll make the decisions,’ he
snapped, with a murderous frown.

Quite unruffled, the young woman stared unblinkingly back
at him. ‘So, what do we do, Doctor?’ she challenged.

The Doctor glared at her. ‘We take a chance,’. he muttered,
giving the controls a sharp jerk with both hands. The TARDIS
hummed and shuddered into life, and within seconds it had
entered the hazardous and uncertain vortex mode...

Pressing his conspicuous frame into the shadows as best he
could, Garron hurriedly made his way through the narrow
twisting alleyways leading to the deserted outskirts of the city of
Shurr. The sky was shot with the last pale glimmers of the
planet’s setting sun, reflecting its sinister greenish sheen in the
treacherous patches of ice stretching between the rough stone
walls and under the low archways. He had almost reached the
neighbourhood of the city wall when, turning a sharp corner, he
all but collided with two enormous angular figures coming in the
opposite direction. Throwing himself sideways, he crammed his
bulky fur-clad body between two thick buttresses and held his
breath, the sweat bursting out all over his fleshy face despite the
bitter cold.

Something sharp was thrust several times into his midriff.
Then a pair of huge metal-gauntleted hands seized him by the
collar and yanked him out of the niche. Garron found himself
staring wild-eyed into a cylindrical steel mask, featureless except
for narrow slits for the eyes and mouth. He hung there
helplessly in the merciless grip of the huge armoured figure,
struggling to regain his breath and desperately trying to speak.
After a few seconds, he was thrust brutally aside into a deep
snowdrift. He heard the steady crunch of marching boots
approaching.

‘Wel... welcome to... to Ribos...’ he stuttered, scrambling
clumsily to his feet and stepping cautiously towards the two
motionless Levithian Guards. his arms outstretched and with a
forced smile of greeting on his clammy face.

Again he was shoved roughly aside. ‘Back scum,’ barked a
harsh voice, muffled slightly by the heavy metal helmet. ‘Make
way for His Highness the Graff Vynda Ka...’ and at that
moment, a squad of armoured guards swept round the corner.

Garron stepped forward again, drawing himself upright in a
dignified manner. ‘Indeed... Indeed... And I am here precisely
in order to welcome His Highness to Ribos,’ he announced in an
affected tone.

The nearest guard immediately raised his slim, streamlined
laser-spear to strike Garron a vicious blow across the face, but at
the same instant a coldly authoritative voice sliced through the
air.

‘Garron...?’ The squad abruptly halted. From the armour-plated ranks there emerged a shortish but athletic-looking
young man dressed in richly decorated robes trimmed with fur,
gleaming boots, and wearing a small but elaborate imperial
crown on his sleek, close-cropped head.

Garron beamed at the aristocratic young man and made a
low bow. ‘Representing the Magellanic Mining Conglomerate,
Highness,’ he said humbly, flourishing a bundle of documents
from the pouch at his belt. ‘Allow me to present my
credentials...’

The Graff Vynda Ka waved the papers aside and stared at
the fawning Garron with pale, chilling eyes, his thin nostrils
curling with evident contempt. ‘This is hardly a fitting
reception,’ he snapped after a short pause, during which Garron
had squirmed uncomfortably, with nervous glances at the guards
surrounding him.

Garron bowed again. ‘I have comfortable quarters prepared
for your Highness...’ he murmured, smiling effusively.

The Graff Vynda Ka gathered his cloak impatiently against
the wind: ‘Then let us delay no longer,’ he said irritably,
motioning Garron to show the way.

Garron hesitated, licking his fat lips nervously, and glancing
at the huge armoured figures on each side of him. ‘Highness...
my letter did stress the necessity for the utmost discretion,’ he
muttered with yet another bow. ‘The natives on this planet are
primitive people, easily intimidated...’

‘Well?’ cried the Levithian Prince with a dangerous scowl.

‘Your escort, Highness...’ Garron went on. ‘There is a strict
curfew in force, and it would be foolish to risk upsetting the...’

‘His Highness is never without his personal bodyguard,’
snapped a tall craggy-faced figure who carried his helmet under
his arm.

‘How I detest these covert operations...’ the young Prince
murmured, studying Garron’s obsequious, fish-eyed expression
with an icy stare. He turned to the tall bare-headed Guard at his
side. ‘Send the squad back to the cruiser, Sholakh,’ he ordered.

The Guard hesitated, staring at Garron through narrowed
eyes. ‘But, Highness...’ he began in an undertone.

The Graff Vynda Ka silenced him with a gesture and turned
to Garron. ‘Lead the way,’ he ordered.

Garron glanced at the departing squad with a secret smile of
triumphant satisfaction. Then, with an expansive sweep of the
arm, he invited the Graff Vynda Ka and Sholakh to follow him.

The column of elite Levithian Guards had only just disappeared
over the brow of the low ridge bordering the outer wall of the
city, when a pulsating whining and trumpeting sound tore
through the freezing air, and a faint yellow light flashed in the
shadows by the archway leading into the settlement. Beneath the
pulsing light a blue box-like structure gradually took. shape as
the TARDIS materialised. For some time the image hovered
fitfully in the air, fading and reappearing with an undulating
groaning. At last it finally solidified with a shudder. The light
stopped flashing and there was silence, except for the moan of
the wind and a faint hiss of steam from the melted snow around
the base of the Police Box.