Doctor Who: The Rescue (2 page)

The parched landscape looked as if it would welcome a torrent of rain falling for years and years. Scattered across the wilderness, which was gouged by deep ravines and scarred with crusted lake beds, tall spiny-leaved plants seemed to signal in almost human desperation towards the dimly glowering sun, and wicked thorny shrubs and cacti lurked among the boulders and the jagged flinty scree.

A low ridge of craggy mountains rose abruptly out of the desert plain, its cliffs pockmarked with caves and crevices.

At the foot of the ridge, a series of shattered terraces was just distinguishable under the fallen rock and mounds of choking dust. The broken remains of stone buildings with gaping holes for entrances and windows lay like rows of skulls, half-buried in the white sand. Occasionally, a sudden gust of wind dislodged a loose slab or block and it clattered down in a flurry of thick dust, as if the giant skulls were coming to life again and stirring to speak of the terrible catastrophe they had suffered long ago.

Near the ruins at the base of the steep cliffs lay the wreckage of a colossal black and silver metallic structure. It had been broken into three separate sections which lay roughly in alignment. The huge spherical head and the tail complex of clustered cylinders had originally been connected to opposite ends of the tubular central stem. The spherical head section, which was about fifty metres in diameter, had rolled some distance from the rest of the wreck, ending up with its connecting stump pointing almost vertically. A jagged hole appeared to have been cut in the underside of the sphere close to the ground. The vast tail assembly lay only a few metres from the rear end of the central section. Half-submerged in the sand, with its vast cylinders directed up at an angle, it had obviously driven itself into the ground with enormous power. Several of the cylinders had broken off and stood leaning like silver totems from a religion not yet born.

The central tube itself lay almost horizontal and was split open, just as if it had been trodden on and kicked aside by some giant foot. From the snapped open angle a huge knot of tangled struts, cables and pipes spewed out in all directions like the guts of a gigantic robot. Now and again, a swirl of wind tugged at the mechanical entrails and made them creak and squeal and thrash the air. Along the tailward end of the tube a large hatch panel stuck out, twisted at right angles to the scorched and pitted hull. On the outside face of the panel was painted a symbol showing a planet in orbit around a star and a spacecraft in orbit around the planet. Nearby on the hull in huge half-obliterated letters was the name
ASTRA NINE
. The dark, empty hatchway looked like the forgotten entrance to a long abandoned tomb.

But among the cracked glassy boulders littered around the wreck there were fresh foot prints in the baking sand, especially near the hatchway. Most of the prints were clearly human. However, others resembled the claw prints of a gigantic bird of prey.

Suddenly a high-pitched noise issued from inside the wreck. It was an urgent pulsing signal, shrill and staccato.

It could almost have been the shriek of some pterodactyl-like creature swooping on its prey. It persisted for several minutes before there was a sudden slithering and sliding sound from the steep scree and a slight, ragged figure came stumbling down from the terraces above the wreck and dived through the hatch, breathless and sweating.

Inside the tubular section, the small figure ran up the gentle sloping floor that had originally formed the wall of the hull and knelt in front of a battered radar console that had obviously been removed from its proper position and installed there by means of a crude tangle of cables and connections. With feverish fingers and tiny gasps of excited anticipation, the young girl adjusted the tuning controls and stared wide-eyed at a sharp pinpoint of light pulsing in one corner of the dusty screen.

The target spot lay behind the fainter outline of the nearby ridge which crossed the screen from one corner to the other. Frowning with concentration, the girl overlaid the range and angular distance vectors.

‘It’s impossible...’ she breathed, brushing the dust out of her eyes. ‘It just can’t be... I would have heard something.’

Her pale, almost fragile face began to crumple with desolate disappointment. She had huge eyes with fine eyebrows arched high at the outer corners giving her an air of alert surprise. Her short cropped hair, oval face and small mouth suggested Joan of Arc, and her nose was definitely Norman. Her simple short-sleeved dress and her dirty bare feet made her look even more like the Maid of Orleans.

No matter what adjustments her nervously fluttering fingers made at the keyboard, the signal persisted and the range and direction indicator located the target somewhere on the ridge.

Excitement and hope revived in the girl’s intense eyes as she watched the ring of the radar trace expand from the centre out to the edge of the screen over and over again like the waves from a stone dropped into a pool. With each pulse, the target blip flashed and bleeped.

She leaned across the chaotic tangle of communications equipment lashed up around the radar scanner and snatched up a microphone headset. She was about to switch on and tune the radio transmitter when she glanced across at the internal hatch set in what had been the ceiling of the chamber. Through the half-open shutter, she could see the light filtering through the maze of debris which spilt out between the broken halves of the hull. She hesitated, as if torn between alternatives, and a shadow of fear momentarily passed over her face. Then she dropped the headset, sprang to her feet and scrambled through the internal hatchway.

She pushed her way through the jungle of wreckage cluttering the intermediate chamber towards one of a number of internal hatches in what had originally been the floor of the upper or forward section of the hull. The hatch was closed. She hammered on the hollow-sounding shutter with her fists.

‘Bennett... Bennett!’ she called in a small, tremulous voice. ‘Bennett, the rescue craft has arrived already!’ There was no reply.

The girl tried to squeeze her thin fingers between the edge of the shutter and its buckled frame. ‘Bennett, please let me in!’ she shouted, her voice suddenly breaking with hysteria. ‘Let me in, the
Seeker
has landed!’

There was a pause and then a sharp click and the hatch slid aside a few centimetres. Seizing the edge, the girl leaned on it with all her strength. Slowly the shutter opened and she slipped warily through.

She entered a small compartment which had been made into makeshift living quarters squeezed in amidst a mass of complex control and guidance equipment. In a corner there was a simple metal bunk furnished with a cellular mattress and a blanket, and on the curved floor beside it sat a plastic beaker and jug containing discoloured water.

Fitted to what had once been the compartment ceiling at the end of the bunk, a domed object emitted a feeble fluorescent light. On the bunk lay a large man. His long black hair reached almost to his shoulders and he wore a beard trimmed in the Spanish style. His piercing eyes were dark beneath thick prominent brows and his sallow, pockmarked face had high cheekbones and a strong chin.

His nose looked as if it had been broken. His bulky frame was crammed into a round-necked tunic and trousers made of a synthetic material. The trousers were tucked into rugged, unfastened boots.

As the girl tentatively approached the bunk, the man heaved himself into a half-sitting position. ‘What is the problem?’ he demanded, his hoarse voice remote with exhaustion. Before she could respond the man jerked his head towards the plastic jug. ‘Give me a drink.’

The girl handed him the beaker. ‘The
Seeker
has landed.

It’s on the radar,’ she said breathlessly. ‘It’s here at last, Bennett. Isn’t that wonderful? We can go home now.’

Bennett almost choked on the brackish, oily liquid.

‘Impossible. It cannot be the
Seeker
,’ he snapped brutally, staring at the sand at the bottom of the beaker. ‘You are dreaming again.’

The girl seized his arm in a frenzy. ‘Listen, you can hear it on the radar!’ she insisted, kneeling almost in supplication.

Bennett frowned as he heard the persistent bleep from the equipment in the main compartment. The girl did not notice the sudden fear veiled in his dark eyes. He shook his head. ‘It is a fault. It has to be a fault,’ he told her. ‘Did you establish radio contact?’

The girl shook her head. ‘I was just going to... but I wanted to come and tell you first.’ Her face looked trusting and innocent. ‘Bennett, I thought you would be so pleased.’

Bennett thrust the empty beaker at her. ‘Did you see it?’

he demanded. ‘Did you hear it land?’

‘No, but it
is
here. I know it is. It’s on the screen,’ she insisted with pathetic desperation. ‘Come and look, Bennett. I’ll help you,’ she said, tugging at his arm like a small child.

Bennett snatched his arm away. ‘They could not find us without the radio beacon,’ he retorted. ‘You know we cannot activate that until they establish orbit. Our power cells are almost exhausted as it is. We are lucky we have any power at all.’ He gripped her thin wrist in his huge hand. ‘Now go and switch off the radar before we run the cells out completely.’

The girl’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘But why won’t you believe me?’ she cried. ‘It’s so near... Somewhere up on the ridge... We should almost be able to see it.’

‘Don’t be so stupid,’ Bennett scoffed. ‘The thing landed without making a sound, did it?’

The girl thought about this and fell silent.

Bennett attempted a sympathetic smile and leaned towards her. ‘Vicki, I know how badly you want to escape from this god-forsaken place. We both want to get away; but it is no good pretending. The
Seeker
may not arrive for a very long time. You must face reality.’

Vicki stared at the water jug and said nothing.

‘Go and radio the
Seeker
,’ Bennett suggested out of the blue.

Vicki gazed at him eagerly, like a dog being offered a titbit.

‘You will not get an answer yet, but if it will make you feel any better go and try,’ Bennett said kindly.

Vicki wiped her eyes and nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. She stood up and moved to the hatchway.

Bennett’s face hardened again as he watched her. ‘And Vicki...’

She paused without turning. She knew what was coming and her frail body stiffened with apprehension.

‘Vicki, watch out for Koquillion.’

She nodded again and gave a little shudder. ‘I... I have not seen... him today,’ she said in a tiny voice.

‘He will be around somewhere,’ Bennett reminded her.

‘And he knows nothing about the
Seeker
. Do not forget that. He must not find out.’

Vicki shivered again. ‘I know.’

‘So be very careful, Vicki. If Koquillion were to find out he would kill us both.’

With her back to Bennett, Vicki could not see the tormenting gleam in his eyes. She bit her lip. ‘I will be careful,’ she promised. Then she slipped out, sliding the shutter behind her as best she could.

Bennett sank back onto his bunk, but he no longer looked exhausted. A faint grin puckered the corners of his full mouth and his big body shook with silent satisfied laughter.

Vicki returned to the main compartment, all the excitement drained from her. She stared at her own metal bunk and then at the rows and rows of colourful crystalline rock fragments she had collected and arranged around the compartment on struts and pipes and on the assortment of equipment that had been brought there after the accident.

Suddenly all her efforts to create a little refuge for herself looked dismal and pathetic. Even the glittering mineral crystals looked dull and pointless. She glanced at the pulsing radar scanner and then went slowly across to the exterior hatchway and looked out across the barren ridge and the deserted sand-clogged ruins. Bennett was right.

There was no sign of any rescue craft anywhere. Only the endless arid waste.

She went back to the radar scanner and contemplated the pulsing pinpoint. Then she picked up the headset and switched on the transmitters. She selected the channel and tuned the equipment as carefully as her fumbling fingers allowed. Then she spoke slowly and distinctly into the microphone: ‘
Astra Nine
to
Seeker
...
Astra Nine
to
Seeker
...

Do you copy?’

She listened to the hollow hiss of the earpiece with a sinking heart. After a while she adjusted the fine tuning and repeated her call. ‘
Seeker
this is Planet Dido... Do you copy? Please indentify.’ She switched off the radar audio signal to reduce the interference and knelt by the scanner listening to the meaningless noise of the universe in the headset.

All at once she heard a faint bleep followed by a distant but clear voice: ‘
Seeker
to
Astra Nine
... Contact confirmed...

Go ahead please.’

Hardly believing her ears, Vicki adjusted the microphone closer to her lips. ‘
Seeker
... Have you landed?’ she cried. ‘Have you landed?’

In her excitement she forgot about the transmission lag and she was repeating her message when the rescue craft’s reply came through: ‘Negative,
Astra Nine
... We have sixty-eight terrestrial hours to Dido orbit... Distance one million nine hundred and ninety-three thousand kilometres...

Velocity mean at thirty-three thousand seven hundred kilometres per hour... In deceleration mode...’

‘But you must be mistaken,’ Vicki protested. ‘I have your signal on radar in front of me...’

There was another thirteen second pause and Vicki knew in her heart that she must be wrong. The delay in messages proved that the
Seeker
was still far from Dido.

‘Listen,
Astra Nine
... Conserve your power...’ came the reply. ‘We shall contact you on establishing orbit... Repeat, conserve your power... We shall require your beacon to locate you on the surface...
Seeker
breaking contact now...