Doctor Who: The Ice Warriors (15 page)

‘Understood, Commander.’

Suddenly, Victoria cried out in alarm.

‘Doctor! Look! There’s water coming into the spaceship!’

‘Great heavens!’ exclaimed the Doctor, beckoning the Ice Warrior across. ‘Do you realise what this means, Zondal?

The ship is breaking up under the ice!’

Caught between staying at his firing post, and investigating a possible disaster, Zondal hesitated—and was lost.

‘What is it?’ he asked suspiciously. ‘Do not try to trick me!’ Then, as he peered to see what the Doctor was indicating, Victoria threw the contents of the phial straight into his face. For a second, the liquid had no effect at all.

Victoria glanced at the Doctor in horrified dismay. Then, just as Zondal seemed to be recovering from the puny attack, his sonic pistol poised for action, the toxic fumes began to grip the creature’s throat. He lurched and fell, choking, to his knees. The Doctor poured the contents of his own phial on to Zondal’s bowed and wretching head, and then, like Victoria, skipped nimbly out of range. But even as they watched, the Martian’s body convulsed into a helpless wreck. Varga’s harsh voice rang out again.

‘Zondal! Fire—now!’

The stern command had the momentary effect of pulling the desperately weakened warrior back from the edge of oblivion. Zondal lunged weakly towards the control panel, reaching for the firing button. The Doctor dashed forward—

but he was too late. Zondal’s fist struck home, and the cannon fired!

The blast struck the control room without warning.

Clent and Miss Garrett were hurled to the floor. Clent’s first thought was that there had been a localised earthquake—but a quick glance at the seismic chart gave no indication of a natural disaster. He and Jan had barely risen to their feet, half-stunned, when Walters burst into the control room, dusty and battered.

‘Sir—’ he gasped. He paused to steady himself.

‘For heaven’s sake, Walters,’ demanded Clent, ‘what’s happening?’

‘The documentation wing, sir’—explained the security sergeant breathlessly—’its gone—blown apart!’

They stared at him in disbelief. Then a glimmer of understanding crept into Clent’s brain. ‘We’re under attack!’

he whispered wildly. ‘But who on earth...’

Suddenly, the videoscreen flicked into life. Partially distorted by interference. but hideously recognisable, was the grim face of the Ice Warrior.

‘Leader Dent,’ came the terrifying hiss. ‘you are at my mercy. Obey me, or you will be destroyed!’

Clent snapped back, hysterically defiant. ‘I refuse! You cannot destroy us!’

‘You do not believe me? Must I fire again?’

Clent turned towards the others. but hardly seemed to see them. His eyes looked glazed: he rubbed his hands together in nervous desperation. Jan suddenly felt an enormous surge of pity—he was on the verge of losing his nerve completely.

‘What can we do?’ he croaked, looking about him aimlessly. Suddenly, his eyes brightened. ‘We must play for time!’ Walters was more realistic.

‘The building won’t take any more like that, sir! There’s men killed already.’

‘Then we’ll talk to them,’ snapped Clent, and, acting with a little of his old authority, he addressed the image on the videoscrcen. ‘Exactly who am I speaking to?’ Jan mused forward and stood by his shoulder.

‘My name is Varga, warlord of Mars. I order you to surrender—or you will die!’

‘You will gain nothing by destroying us,’ replied Clent.

‘We both have urgent needs. But I will agree to talk—nothing more.’ At first, the Martian didn’t reply. The tension became almost unbearable.

‘If I come in peace,’ the voice replied at last, there must be trust between us. No treachery!’

‘There will be no traps—or conditions,’ declared Clent.

‘See that you keep to that,’ rasped Varga, and his image faded from the screen.

It took several minutes for the scientists to regain their normal composure.

‘What does he want...’ whispered Jan.

‘My men don’t stand a chance against weapons like that, sir,’ insisted the security sergeant. ‘It’d be murder!’

‘That wasn’t in my mind, Walters,’ retorted Clent. ‘You heard what he said—no treachery!’

‘But can we trust him?’ asked Jan

‘We have to, don’t we?’ replied Clent. ‘He has... certain advanoges—like the ability to blast us and this whole building apart!’

‘We could try bluffing him,’ suggested Jan seriously. ‘He doesn’t know about the computer’s command to hold back.

We could threaten to destroy the glacier and his ship with it!’

Before Clent could answer, Walters stepped forward, his face eager. ‘Better than that, sir, why don’t we do it anyway?

It’s our only chance of survival—’

Miss Garrett turned on the burly security-commander.

‘There are human lives at stake there, man: the girl’s and the Doctor’s! We
can
only bluff !’

‘We will not use the Ioniser,’ clipped the Leader firmly,

‘unless the computer authorises it!’

‘Don’t tell me about that damned machine!’ shouted Walters. ‘What’s your precious computer ever given us, Clent?

Nothing! Nothing but trouble! And it’s time somebody put an end to it!’ He dragged his tranquilliser gun from its holster, and was about to use it to smash the sleek head of ECCO.

Suddenly Clent cried out, and pointed towards the open doorway.

‘Walters!’

The wild-eyed security commander spun to face the intruders, gun in hand. His eyes widened at the sight of Varga and his three warriors. It was the last thing he ever saw. Almost instantaneously, Varga’s melt reacted to the sight of Walters’ weapon with a concerted burst of sonic fire-power.

The burly man fell, his face horribly contorted with pain.

As Jan stifled a scream of terror, Cleat stared dully at the body.

‘So much for trust...’ hissed the warlord.

‘That wasn’t planned!’ protested Clent. ‘He wasn’t going to harm you—it was the computer that he wanted to smash!’

‘I do not need your explanations,’ responded Varga.

‘Our truce is at an end!’ As the Martian strode into the control complex and began studying its equipment and layout, Jan had the distinct feeling that the truce was never intended to be kept. This alien was ruthless; unless they were careful, Walters would not be the last to die. She motioned to the few remaining technical operators to do nothing to antagonise the Martians. One glance showed her that they were not likely to make even a token resistance.

‘What is it you want?’ Jan boldy asked.

Varga looked at her arrogantly. ‘I have one major need; mercury isotopes for my spaceship’s reactor. You will give them to me.’

Clent frowned, and intervened cautiously. ‘But... we don’t use mercury isotopes.’

‘The Doctor stated that you had what we need—here!

Do not try to trick me!’

‘He was wrong—we have one,’ answered Clent simply.

‘What good would lying do?’

The warlord glowered at Clent, then moved towards Jan. He spoke gently, but the menace in his voice was unmistakable.

‘Tell me,’ he whispered smoothly, ‘what will hap-pen if we shut off your reactor in order to extract the fuel elements that we need?’

‘You can’t do that!’ Jan answered in alarm. ‘It powers everything: heat, light—’

‘And the Ioniser...’ hissed the Martian. ‘Without the reactor, you would be completely at the mercy of the glacier.’

‘You don’t realise the dangers!’ Clent exclaimed, his face pale with stress. ‘The power source is locked in directly with the Ioniser. If you cut out the energy pulse before it reduces to safety level, the feed-back effect will blast you and this building into a state of ion-flux!’

The warlord studied him briefly, then moved across to examine the Ioniser control panel. ‘What is its temperature range?’ he hissed, his great fists poised above the controls.

‘Don’t touch it!’ cried Clent. It’s fully primed!’ Varga’s hand fell back, but his arrogant head turned towards Clent, waiting for the answer. ‘It can melt rock; muttered Clent reluctantly.

‘It can volatise rock!’ the Martian was obviously impressed. ‘What a weapon!’

‘It isn’t a weapon!’ insisted Clent nervously. ‘It’s a scientific instrument!’

‘But highly dangerous,’ interjected Jan. ‘unless it’s handled correctly. You do so at your own risk,’ she added.

‘You are its operator?’ hissed Varga, then taking her nod of assent as answer, continued, ‘You will take it down to safety level. Now!’

Jan looked towards Clem. His shoulders slumped; he nodded wearily in agreement. But Jan hadn’t given in completely yet. ‘It’ll take some time,’ she said.

‘Do not attempt to trick me,’ rasped the Martian. ‘I know that you are afraid its heat will explode my ship. If you make one false move...’ he placed his sonic destructor at Jan’s head ‘... you will be the first to die!’

Clent stepped forward to defend Jan. Varga’s gun swung in his direction. He strove to hide his fear. ‘Miss Garrett is the only person who is qualified to disconnect the Ioniser safely! If you kill her—’

Varga moved closer to the Leader. ‘And what exactly do you do here?’ he asked softly. A little of Clent’s old dignity returned. ‘I am in charge of this establishment, with the official rank of Leader.’

The Martian coughed out his menacing laugh, and placed the sonic weapon at Clent’s ear. ‘Then you have less value to me than your colleague, who has more valuable skills.’ The warlord looked at Jan, her eyes showed her fear.

‘To kill this man, your Leader,’ he hissed, ‘would be no loss to me. Do you wish to see him die?’

‘No!’ cried Jan. ‘Please!’

‘Then do as I say! Close down the machine as quickly as is safely possible!’ Varga brutally thrust the sonic weapon against Clent’s cheek, making him howl with pain. ‘Or your Leader will be destroyed!’

Zondal had been so effected by the toxic gas that he was likely, to remain in a deep coma for hours. Victoria kept glancing at the sprawled, massive body nervously—but the Doctor was wholly concentrating on adapting the intricate mechanism of the sonic cannon’s control panel to a purpose all his own.

‘But what is it you’re trying to do?’ asked Victoria.

‘It’s a bit difficult to explain, Victoria,’ replied the Doctor, without pausing. ‘You see, this weapon works on the basis that sound waves cause the objects in their path to reverberate.’

‘The objects vibrate in sympathy,’ nodded Victoria. ‘I know. Father told me about it once.’

The Doctor frowned at a particularly involved piece of circuitry, then carried on. ‘Well, if you can produce an
un
sympathetic vibration, severe damage results...’

‘Damage?’ asked Victoria, then added brightly, ‘Like when a singer hits a note that breaks glass?’

‘That’s it—only the Ice Warriors make it happen to the neural and cell systems of the human body. My plan is to change the frequency of this gun’s pulse rate so that it affects the Martians, and not us—to frequency seven, I think.’

‘Frequency seven? What will that do?’

‘Primarily, it affects liquids. And I’ve got a theory that the Martians’ cells contain a much larger fluid content than ours.’ He stood back, apparently satisfied, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

‘But you’re not sure.’ Her eyes widened in alarm.

The Doctor nodded soberly. ‘There are bound to be side-effects,’ he agreed, ‘but the warriors should get the worst of it. You see, their helmets will trap and intensify the sound waves—in fact I’m banking on that!’

‘You mean it’ll knock the Martians out,’ asked Victoria tentatively, ‘but just leave the scientists a bit dizzy?’

The Doctor carefully replaced the casing of the control panel. Victoria could tell from his face and the hesitation in his reply that he wasn’t at all happy. ‘Or can something go wrong?’ she demanded.

He looked her straight in the eyes, and gave her an honest answer. ‘Human brain cells also contain a high percentage of liquid. Unless I’m very careful, the effect on our friends could be fatal.’

Jan stepped back from the Ioniser controls, her face bitter with defeat. ‘It’s done—operating at minimal status.’

She looked at Clent—but found no response there. It was as though he was in a world of his own. ‘The ice is already advancing.’ She pointed to the chart. Varga wasn’t interested in the glacier.

‘Disconnect the machine totally!’ he barked.

With no alternative but to do as he commanded. Jan opened the power connector and the machine died. Its pitch sank to a feeble drone.

‘Now the reactor!’ ordered the warlord.

‘Not until all residual power has drained off!’ replied Jan sternly. ‘You know the danger!’

‘You will regret this, Varga.’ Clent declared, strangely calm. ‘You cannot fight the whole world’

‘Your world is nothing’’ hissed Varga contemptuously.

‘We will live to regret only that my superiors on Mars cannot congratulate us.’ He gestured abruptly towards Jan. ‘Hurry!’

All eyes, Martian and human, were on the dying machine. No one noticed the ragged form that had hidden so skilfully in the shadows outside the doorway to the control room, and who watched with dismay the fateful situation in which Clent and Jan were trapped. Penley had woken from the effects of the tranquilliser gun to find himself strapped down to the trolley in the medicare laboratory. It had been minutes before he realised that whoever had fastened the restrainers had left them cunningly half-caught. It had been an easy task to unloose them and set himself free. Jame, cocooned within the healing confines of the diagnostic unit, was unconscious but seemed, Penley noted, to be improving rapidly.

But Clent was a different matter—somehow, he had to be made to see that what he was doing could only end in disaster. It wasn’t until Penley reached the vestibule outside the control room and realised just how desperate the situation was, that he felt a genuine respect for Clent’s courage. It would have broken a lesser man. Faced with not only death but the destruction of all he held to be of importance in his scientific career, the Leader remained quietly defiant... and utterly helpless.