The Romance Of Crime Part 27

The central column of the TARDIS ground to a halt.

Spiggot, who was getting used to some of the time s.h.i.+p's more basic functions, twisted the scanner control and the big shutters slid open.

Their immediate environment was a large and apparently empty room that was lined with quiescent mining technology.

Large drills sat upended on a central work table, their coils blunted and smeared by overuse. A twisted rubber belt five feet wide was wrapped around a stanchion on the floor.

Smaller tools were ranged in clips along the facing wall. Light came from a phosph.o.r.escent disc in the ceiling.

'Ah, a storage and repair area, right?' mused Spiggot. He reached for the door control. 'All set for a look about, K9?'

'Life support systems inactive, but residual oxygen and temperature sufficient,' the dog replied. 'Open doors.'

His blaster raised, Spiggot stepped cautiously from the TARDIS into the repair room. 'Ah well. n.o.body about.' He crossed to the table and picked up an engine part that was covered in flaking rust. 'This looks like it could be part of a centrifuge. Ore separator or something.'

'Your a.n.a.lysis is likely,' said K9.

Spiggot replaced the component. 'You don't have to sound so surprised.' He noticed a communicator system as he crossed the room to a large machine that stood in the corner.

The machine was ten feet tall, painted white, and was featureless, except for a central section of flas.h.i.+ng controls and two slits just above.

'What d'you reckon on this, though?' Spiggot asked. He reached up and patted the machine. 'It's a big one, whatever it is. Could be a recharger.'

K9 trundled forward and extended his probe. 'Caution,' he said. 'Function of this machine is to supervise the sorting of ore. It has reasoning intelligence circuits and is programmed to resist unauthorized interference.'

Spiggot waved a hand dismissively. 'Ah, get off, K9. It's a recharger, right enough. I've seen some like this before. They have to be big to channel so much energy.' He tapped the machine's central panel. 'See, you put your charge leads in these sockets, right, and press this b.u.t.ton here.'

'Danger!' K9 shrieked. 'Do not activate this machine!'

Spiggot pressed the b.u.t.ton. The slits on the machine's top section flashed bright green. A whirring noise came from deep inside it.

It's just a recharger,' Spiggot said, a little less confidently.

'Don't worry about it.'

There were a series of short, sharp clicks from inside the machine and it started to unfold like a living deck chair. Three white blocks appeared and formed arms, at the end of each was a different mining tool; a scoop, a saw, and a long serrated implement that quivered menacingly. The entire lower section sank down on an inflating circular base. The head swivelled from side to side, a pneumatic hiss accompanying its movements.

'I suppose I was wrong,' said Spiggot. He leapt back towards the TARDIS, to which K9 was already retreating.

The robot advanced. It seemed to know what they were trying to do, and a green ray shot from its eyes and bounced off the TARDIS. Apparently irritated by this disappointing result, it advanced smoothly on its circular base and fired again, this time directly at its opponents.

Spiggot ducked and followed K9 towards the door of the repair room. They tumbled through and the door closed.

Spiggot thumbed the locking panel beside it and leant panting against the wall. 'K9,' he said. 'You have official permission not to listen to a word I say.'

'I do not need official permission,' K9 said testily and set off along the adjoining corridor. Spiggot raced after him.

The door of the repair room was blasted off its hinges moments later. The mighty robot pushed itself through the doorway and set off after them, its eyes flas.h.i.+ng fiercely.

Gjork and his two colleagues in the mining party stood waiting for further orders from their masters. They were used to long delays between sets of orders. It was always the same, whoever you were working for.

A roaring engine noise was suddenly overlaid on the rumble of the swirling gas clouds. Each of the Ogrons heard it through his helmet and looked up curiously to its point of origin. Their eyes widened in astonishment and they gave puzzled grunts. A dark shape was swooping down through the clouds at alarming speed.

Confused, Gjork took a couple of clumsy atmosuited strides forward. It wasn't their s.h.i.+p coming in so low. And the masters would have said if they were coming over. The flying shape was turning round now, but still heading directly at them. The other two mining Ogrons panicked and started to run.

Gjork stood his ground. He decided to call his masters and find out what was going on. They were sure to have an answer.

'Mr Charles,' he began. 'Gjork is speaking.'

The thundering rocket ports of the vehicle came closer.

'There is a big thing here, sir, with big flames coming from it. What is it?'

A ball of jettisoned fuel waste dropped from the rocket ports of the skimmer. It ignited in the atmosphere immediately and Gjork and his colleagues were swallowed up by the conflagration within seconds. The fireball spun and sizzled for a few moments, then folded in on itself, trailing a squall of black fumes and cinders that were the only remains of the Ogron miners.

'What's going on out there?' Charlie called into the microphone. 'Gjork? Report!'

The Doctor pointed up at the screen that displayed the local weather conditions. A sequence of figures was flaring over the reference point of the mining party. 'I'm very much afraid there's been a hit and run.'

Charlie stiffened. 'Gjork and the boys? What do you mean?'

'Pyerpoint,' the Doctor said bitterly. 'He's a malicious old stick. He burnt them away just because he felt like it.'

Charlie stood up. There was a determined set to his features again. 'Right,' he said.

The Doctor looked up at him. 'You've decided on a course of action, I can tell.'

Charlie turned to the nearest Ogron. 'Bnorg. Tie him to the chair.'

The Doctor spluttered and attempted to rise, but a firm Ogron hand pushed him down again. Bnorg unwound a length of white plastic flex from his belt pouch and wrapped it around the Doctor's waist and the chair, taking care to keep the hands of the prisoner apart by use of a simple but very stubbom looking knot. 'This is very ungrateful of you,' the Doctor protested.

'I know,' said Charlie. 'But you're the law.' He tapped the Doctor on the shoulder. 'No hard feelings.'

'I shall feel much better knowing that. Just what are you up to?'

Charlie scrabbled in his pocket and brought out a small black box with a red b.u.t.ton mounted on top. 'Know what this is, Doctor?'

'Well, it looks like a signalling device to me.'

'It is.' Charlie tossed the box from hand to hand. 'And when me and Bnorg and the rest of the lads are far enough away from this planet, I'm going to use it to detonate that.' He pointed.

The Doctor saw the outline of the bomb underneath the main console. 'It doesn't look very big,' he said.

'Size is unimportant,' said Charlie. 'That bomb contains enough fine hermite to blow this base apart. And that's not all, you know. 'Cause this place has a fission generator beneath it.

And when that catches light well, there's not going to be much left of the planet after that.'

Stokes lifted the tattered edge of the tarpaulin again and raised his head slightly. From this position he could see out of the clear bubble on top of the skimmer and onto the surface of Planet Eleven. The place looked fairly much as he had imagined it. Dirty and blue. Occasionally a brighter splash of chemical would flash up in the greasy slow-moving clouds they were pus.h.i.+ng through, but these were soon swallowed by the prevailing stodge. Stokes vowed that if he lived to take up oils again, blue would never form part of his compositions. He had seen more than enough of the wretched colour.

The skimmer was moving at an incredible rate, he thought.

Its preset course was leading it towards a large black shape that loomed up ahead. As they came closer, he saw that there was more than one of these shapes. They were no higher than tall hills, but given the flatness of this planet's surface they reared up like mighty mountains. Their foremost peaks pointed solidly up from the gas clouds.

His stomach lurched as the skimmer banked and began to slow. A structure at the foot of the nearest mountain came into view. It was small, about half the size of the McConnochie base, and hugged the slope of the mountain with coiling metal pipelines. Its central section was oblong. It had no windows or external markings, and the rigours of the planet's atmosphere had covered it with dirt. The side facing the approaching skimmer had been partly buried under a cascade of sand, but the rudimentary docking port, little more than a large hole surrounded by a ring of securing clamps, had fortunately escaped the avalanche.

Stokes raised his head as high as he dared and peeked forward through the gap in the seating. He saw Romana's outstretched body and Pyerpoint's hand reaching out to make manual guidance corrections. Trust that old fraudster to take a young woman as a hostage.

If Stokes had been a more valiant man, he would have been planning the rescue of the girl. But he was not, and so he slunk back into cover and gnawed his knuckles in terror as the skimmer slid to a halt and he heard the clamps swing out to secure it.

In their flight through the darkened, stuffy corridors of the illegal mine, Spiggot and K9 had seen many more dormant robots standing among the machinery. It was just as well, Spiggot reasoned, that he had seen fit to activate the one that was in for repair. The thought of confronting a fully functional member of this robotic race would have brought him out in a sweat, if he hadn't already been sweating from the exertion of running.

He grasped hold of a staircase that ran along one wall, and swung himself under it. He panted and collapsed against the wall, trying to catch his breath.

K9 turned. 'Query your stopping. We must avoid pursuing robot.' The clank of the approaching machine echoed down the corridor towards them.

'Hold on,' Spiggot gasped. 'Why don't we set up an ambush? Lure it along this way, then you blast it with your nose ray.'

'Plan impractical. My defensive capability may be ineffective against mining robot. Insufficient data on its design.'

Spiggot waved a hand desperately. 'That control panel on its chest. Try blasting that away, eh? It's our only chance.' He wiped his brow. 'And sometimes you have to take a chance in life, K9. Follow your instincts. It's how I've survived all these years.'

K9 regarded him sceptically. 'My logic circuits refute your argument.' His sensors swivelled. 'However, a check on my power reserves indicates that at present speed, utility will cease in twenty-five minutes. To preserve power, I must take action.'

Spiggot watched as K9 turned and settled himself in the middle of the corridor. The nose blaster slid from his muzzle.

'Good boy, K9,' Spiggot called. 'Don't let me down now.'

K9's eyescreen flashed angrily. 'This unit has never failed you. Your inefficiency has impaired my actions at a rate of eight five point four three '

The robot appeared at the end of the corridor, wobbling uncertainly on its base. Its serrated probe sliced the air ahead of it, and its head whirred from side to side, searching its prey.

'Interesting,' said K9. 'Inferior design of close tactile sensors. I have the advantage.'

The robot came closer. Its stare fixed on the immobile K9 and it stopped for a moment, apparently confused.

The delay was all that K9 needed. He aimed for the robot's chest unit, and let off a concentrated laser blast.

The mining robot's appendages went haywire. Smoke started to issue from its shoulders. It managed to release a feeble response to the attack from its eyes, but the twin beams succeeded only in scorching the floor. The machine clicked, groaned, and sagged.

K9 cut off his own laser beam and beeped proudly. 'Robot deactivated.'

Spiggot emerged from his hiding place. 'Hey, well done, little feller.'

Suddenly a distant clang sounded, followed by a sc.r.a.ping noise. Spiggot nodded. 'Sounds like we've got visitors.'

Stokes waited until he heard the door of the skimmer slam shut after Pyerpoint and Romana before he dared lift his head.

The vehicle had come to rest in a small bare metallic chamber that adjoined the air-lock. Pyerpoint, carrying the supine form of Romana, was standing before a door that obviously led to the main section of this place, whatever it was. The old judge raised a finger to the chamber's entry coder and tapped in a recognition code. Stokes squinted to make out the letters that appeared on the tiny screen. They made up the word SENTINEL.

The door clicked open and Pyerpoint stepped through.

Stokes would have been quite prepared to remain in the skimmer, but he noticed a dial on the air-lock's atmosphere gauge swinging from green to red. A poor s.p.a.cefarer he may have been, but he knew enough about basic safety to realize what was happening. In minutes, the air would be sucked out.

He pushed open the door of the skimmer and tumbled out, clutching at his throat, which already felt dry and constricted.

His only hope was that the door would respond to the same code being used twice. He hurried over and slowly punched in the word SENTINEL.

The door swung open and he darted through. Fortunately, his fellow pa.s.sengers had already moved off and he was alone in a corridor that was even darker and less comfortable than those of the survey base.

He barely had time to register the unpleasant details of his surroundings before a strange whirring noise issued from the darkness up ahead. He looked about frantically, but there was no exit except for the air-lock door.

He sank to his knees and clasped his hands together.

'Please, please,' he murmured to whatever celestial force might be listening, 'make it as swift and as painless as possible.' He screwed his eyes tight.

'Fear unnecessary,' said a high-pitched electronic voice.

Stokes opened an eye curiously. 'K9! How did you get here?' Despite his exhaustion he found his lips curling upwards in a grateful smile. Perhaps things weren't so bad after all. At least now he had company.

Another figure appeared from the shadows. 'I hadn't expected to be seeing you again,' said Spiggot. 'Thought you'd probably been blasted by those Nisbetts.'

Stokes pulled himself up. Oddly, the presence of this uncouth upstart galvanized him far more effectively than the terrors of the past few hours. The fellow was such a bore. All he ever did was talk about himself.

'I have come here in pursuit of our true enemy,' Stokes said grandly. 'The Nisbett menace is as nothing when compared to the improbity of High Archon Pyerpoint.' He relished in the revelation of the name.

'Pyerpoint?' queried Spiggot. 'What's he got to do with it?'

'He has come here, carrying the fair Ramona as his captive,' Stokes explained. 'He has led Xais and the Nisbetts, not to mention the great Doctor himself, a pretty dance.'

K9 spoke. 'Sensors indicate presence of the Mistress.

However, her psychospoor trail is obscured by a rogue trace.'

'Exactly,' said Stokes. 'That'll be the Xais mask. She is wearing it.'

Spiggot laid a heavy hand on Stokes's shoulder. 'I think, mate, before we do anything else, all three of us had best find a quiet corner, sit down, and try to sort out just what's going on here.'

'It is not possible for me to sit down,' said K9. 'But I concur with your strategy. More information is needed before rescue plan can be devised.'

One of the large mining robots stood dormant before a plain metal door further into the mine. As Pyerpoint, who was still carrying Romana, advanced, its eyes lit up and one of its arms shot up.

'Sentinel,' said Pyerpoint wearily. 'Grant access.'

The robot slid to one side and the door slid open.