Doctor Who: The Doomsday Weapon (7 page)

Caldwell brought his thumb down hard onto another button on his hand-held control unit. The Doctor nerved himself to feel the robot's grip tighten and crush the bone of his arm. Instead, from what served as the robot's mouth the Doctor heard a crude recording of what he had just said.

'
Kindly tell this metal moron to take its hand off me,
' came from the mouth of the robot. This was followed by guffaws of metallic laughter, from somewhere within the robot's head.

Caldwell grinned at the Doctor's seeming surprise. 'You see - me and Charlie are just a couple of jokers.' He pressed another button, and the robot's hand came away from the Doctor's arm. 'Shall we get back in the buggy now,' he said, 'and all be friends?'

'All right,' said the Doctor. 'Since you insist,'

Captain Dent sat in his captain's chair in the control room of the Interplanetary Mining Corporation spaceship, his eyes on the monitor screen. As a television eye in the body of the spaceship slowly moved round the ship's circumference, it projected onto the monitor screen a panning picture of the planet's rocky, slightly undulating surface. Despite years of service with IMC, it still gave Dent a thrill to sit inside the comfort and protection of a ship and be able to see everything that was outside.

As he sat there, his hands moved from one to another of the controls. He knew each lever and knob by touch, and exactly how much power he could exert with each of them, energy measured not only in thrust of the spaceship's motors but also in the destructive force of the weapons every IMC ship carried. Sitting like that, in his special captain's chair, with his hands gently touching and stroking the controls, he was always reminded of the power of the Interplanetary Mining Corporation and his place within that organisation. When he was a child his father had told him, 'You've got to work hard at school and at university, and then you must get into one of the big corporations and stay there, and they'll look after you.' He had listened to his father's advice. He had never wanted to be like his uncle, a man who had changed jobs many times in his life and still had no real position in the world. From the beginning, Dent wanted to work up to a good job, and that meant getting into a really big corporation and staying there. He was lucky enough to join IMC at the age of 20, one of five successful applicants that term out of seventeen thousand. Immediately, he got a room of his own to live in, a rare privilege for any unmarried man on the overcrowded planet Earth. He was given six months' training on spaceship maintenance; he studied day and night and never took the elevator up to the sunshine or went for Walks or attended parties. He graduated with honours. It was then that they gave him his special IMC uniform, piped with red, and sent him as a crew member on his first mission with a survey ship looking for much-needed minerals on other planets. On his return to Earth he not only got his share of the crew's bonus, but also a note telling him to report to the IMC personnel manager's office.

'We like your work,' said the personnel manager, 'and we want to promote you to First Officer for your text trip. However, I see from your file that you're not married.'

'That is correct, sir,' said Dent.

The personnel manager smiled, a smile that reminded Dent of his own father. 'The Corporation likes its First Officers, and its Captains of course, to be married. It makes a man feel more secure. Got any on in mind?'

'No, sir,' said Dent. He had always remembered his father's advice that the big corporations much preferred to choose the wives and husbands for their employees, so he hadn't tried to find a wife.

'Then let IMC help you,' beamed the personnel manager. 'I'll just run the details from your file through the computer, and see who it matches up with, and we'll have a nice wife and home waiting for you when you get back from your next trip!'

Six months later Dent returned to Earth again, this time with a bigger bonus. In the envelope with the bonus statement was a key bearing an address tag. This was his new home. His wife was waiting for him, quite a pretty young woman with short hair dyed dull blue, as was the fashion that month. 'Are you my husband?' she said as he let himself in.

'I imagine I will be,' he answered, looking round his new home. It had
two
rooms, a shower, a lavatory, and a tiny kitchen. He was amazed at the influence wielded by IMC which could get him anywhere to live in as big as this.

'It's all fixed,' said the girl. 'IMC had our State records stapled together in the Automatic Personnel File, so we're already married.'

'That's fine,' Dent said, still looking about his new living quarters. 'What's that?' He pointed to a set of knobs and dials in the tiny kitchen.

The girl explained it was the infra-red cooker, and spent the next hour showing Dent all the gadgets in their home. Finally he asked, 'Do you know how much all this is going to cost me '

'I worked it out,' said the girl. 'Even if they make you up to Captain in a year, with your earnings you'll pay off IMC for all this in about twenty years' time. But, of course, by then we'll have moved to somewhere bigger, and there'll be children, so I imagine you'll be paying back IMC for just about the rest of your life!'

She laughed. It was a very pretty laugh. And now, for the first time, Dent really noticed her in among all the other gadgets of his new home. Over the next few days of leave he found that the IMC match-making computer had done a good job, and that the two of them were going to be very happy together. Two years later they had their first child, then their second, and both children were now in a school owned and run by IMC solely for the children of IMC staff.

As Dent sat there, touching the controls of the IMC spaceship, he felt happy and secure in the fact that he was an IMC man, with an IMC wife, IMC children, with a beautiful
four
room IMC home. His present and his future were as secure as IMC, and IMC would go on for ever.

These pleasant thoughts were pushed from his mind by the arrival of First Officer Morgan, who came hurrying into the control room with a file in his hand. 'I've just got the first survey results from the computer, Captain, he said, showing Dent the file. 'There's enough duralinium on this planet to build a million living units on Earth.'

'Excellent,' said Dent. He had trained his mind to switch instantly from one set of thoughts to another. All the personal memories were now switched off, and he was eagerly scanning his eyes down the set of figures on the computer print-out contained in the file.

Morgan said, 'I can't think how this planet ever got assigned for colonisation, can you, Captain?'

'Does it really matter?' said Dent, still eagerly reading the figures.

'Look,' said Morgan, ' Caldwell seems to have found a colonist for us.'

Dent looked up at the monitor. On it they could see Caldwell on the buggy driving straight towards them. Seated by Caldwell was a tall man with curly fair hair dressed in a knee-length black jacket and a frilly white shirt. The robot sat at the rear.

Morgan was amused, 'Why's he wearing fancy dress?'

'All colonists are eccentric,' said Dent, which was something he had once read in an IMC handbook on interplanetary sociology. 'Otherwise they wouldn't be colonists. They're drop-outs from society.'

By now the buggy had gone out of range of the outside television eye, so presumably it was too close in to the spaceship, it had probably stopped by the outside entrance, and its passengers would be in the process of dismounting.

Morgan asked, 'What are you going to say to this eccentric?'

'The usual story,' said Dent. 'We've only just arrived, and we are surprised and shocked to discover that the planet has been colonised.'

'Why couldn't we just blast them off the planet?' Morgan said. 'We've got the weapons.'

Dent closed the file and looked up at Morgan. 'Politics, dear boy. Earth Government is supposed to care for
all
its people, not only the interests of big business.' He smiled. 'We have to do things in a
legal
way.'

'I did everything the way you told me, sir,' said Morgan. 'But it seems such a long way to go about things.'

'Maybe,' said Dent. 'But the IMC way is best. You're young. You'll learn.' He heard Caldwell 's heavy footsteps coming along the main connecting corridor and quickly put the survey file out of sight in case Caldwell had the colonist with him. But Caldwell entered alone, and very angry.

'I've just come across a colonist,' Caldwell exploded. 'He says two people were killed last night!' He swung round on Morgan, 'You're only supposed to scare them, Morgan, not slaughter them!'

Dent was also annoyed with this news, but for different reasons. 'Did you know about this, Morgan?'

'He must have known!' bellowed Caldwell .

'Let him answer,' Dent said. He turned back to Morgan, who looked scared of Caldwell 's anger. 'Well?'

'It was an accident,' Morgan said, his face flushed with guilt. 'They found me and started shooting.'

'You acted very foolishly,' said Dent. 'You should not have let them see you.'

Caldwell returned to his attack on Dent. 'Is that all you can say? That Morgan was “foolish”?!'

Dent hated rows. During arguments people exposed what was really going on in their minds, and Dent never wanted other people to know what he was thinking. He said nothing for a moment, then retrieved the survey file from where he had put it out of sight. He opened the file under Caldwell 's nose. 'Look at these figures, Caldwell . This planet's got enough duralinium to double IMC's profits next year. Your own bonus will be big enough to retire on.'

Caldwell stared at the report. Dent watched Caldwell 's eyes as they sped from line to line of the figures.

One of the many lessons Dent had learnt from the IMC Staff Management School , which he attended for six months before becoming a Captain, was that money overcomes most staff problems.

'You're sure this survey is correct?' Caldwell asked.

'The computer's never been wrong,' said Dent. Caldwell drew a deep breath, a sign that he was seeing Dent's point of view. 'All right,' he said. 'But no more killings.'

Dent snapped that the file. 'Agreed. Where is your colonist?'

'I left him in the crew room,' said Caldwell .

That was a mistake. Non-IMC people should never be left alone anywhere in an IMC spaceship. But Dent just said, 'Fine. I'll go and see him.' He put the file away again, left the control room and went down the connecting corridor to the crew room. The door was locked on the outside, and Dent was pleased to note that Caldwell had shown at least some sense. He turned the holding bolt, and quietly opened the door. The eccentric-looking man he had seen on the monitor with Caldwell was standing watching the screen of the crew's entertainment console which no doubt Caldwell had turned on for him. On the screen was an architect's drawing of high-rise living units on a floating island in the sea. A woman's voice came from the console, explaining the drawings. 'With every square metre of the Earth's land masses now covered with building complexes,' said the voice, 'scientists have turned to new means for providing accommodation for our ever-growing population. These floating islands, rising to three hundred storeys, will provide living space for five hundred million people...' The man, apparently aware that Dent was watching his back, switched off the console and turned round. 'Welcome on board,' said Dent, crossing to the man with his hand extended. 'My name's Captain Dent. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. - '

'Not Mister,' said the man. 'Just Doctor.'

They shook hands.

Dent said, 'I'm surprised and shocked to find colonists on this planet. It seems your people made some navigational error coming here. This planet's classified for mining. Still, IMC is always willing to help brave, adventurous people such as yourselves. So if there's any way we can help you to get on your way, just tell us how.'

'I think you're mistaken,' said the Doctor. 'This planet is classified for colonisation.'

Dent had no intention to pursue this argument, at least not now. He said, 'But it's such an awful place to live! And I understand it's infested with some hostile animal life.'

'I find that extremely puzzling,' said the Doctor.

Dent took a careful look at the Doctor. The man hadn't got the weather-beaten face and rough, calloused hands of the typical colonist, the type of people Dent had met on many other planets; not only that, but the man's clothes didn't look like a colonist's work clothes. Perhaps the man was some kind of interfering inspector from Earth Government. 'Puzzling?' said Dent. 'Why?'

'When giant dinosaurs lived on planet Earth,' said the Doctor, 'that planet was covered in lush, tropical vegetation which fed them. There is little vegetation here.'

'Maybe they're flesh eaters,' said Dent.

'Then what flesh do they eat,' asked the Doctor. 'I've seen no signs of other animals here.'

If there was one thing Dent hated it was people who could think and reason. It was that kind of person who always caused trouble. He dearly wanted to put a bullet through the Doctor as he stood there. Instead, he smiled. 'I don't understand all that stuff,' he said, pretending to be a simple, nonscientific man, 'but these creatures seem to exist and they're killers. Surely you and your fellow colonists don't want to spend your lives fighting monsters?'

'As it happens,' said the Doctor, 'I'm not a colonist, I'm merely a visitor here.'

'May I ask on what business?' said Dent.

'Certainly you may,' said the Doctor; 'my own. However, I'm very interested in what the colonists are trying to do. It's possible that these giant lizards can be found and destroyed, or at least deterred from harming the colonists.'

'Is that what the colonists think?' said Dent. This is really what he wanted to know.

'They expected difficulties when they came here, said the Doctor. 'But with patience they will survive.'