Doctor Who and the Genesis of the Daleks by Terrance Dicks

Author:Terrance Dicks
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9781473530348
Publisher: Ebury Publishing

7

Countdown to Destruction

The Doctor heard a voice moaning and muttering. ‘Must stop rocket … warn …’ To his surprise he realised the voice was his own.

There came another voice. ‘Still alive is he? A shock like that should have killed him immediately.’

Then a gruffer voice, ‘What do we do with him, Minister?’

‘Oh, I’ve no time now,’ said the first voice fussily. ‘Leave him where he is till after the launch. I’ll interrogate him myself if I’ve time. Otherwise you chaps can have him.’

The Doctor opened his eyes cautiously, then closed them again, since the whole room was spinning like a Catherine wheel. He made a mighty effort and tried again, first one eye then the other. He was in the rocket control room, the room in which he’d watched Davros betray his people not so long ago. But he couldn’t move …

The Doctor realised that he had been lashed by the arms into a wheeled metal chair and shoved into a corner, a piece of unimportant, unfinished business to be dealt with later. The room was a bustle of activity as civilian and military VIPs got in the way of the technical staff desperately preparing for the countdown.

The Minister was looking at a monitor screen which showed a picture of the Kaled City beneath its protective dome. The dome was in a bad state now, broken in several places, with a creeping stain spreading over its surface. ‘It’s working,’ said the minister exultantly. ‘The Kaled dome is breaking up. Start the countdown!’

Helpless in his chair the Doctor shouted, ‘No—you mustn’t.’ No one took any notice—except for the guard, who gave him an absent-minded cuff to silence him. Everyone was intent on the big digital clock which dominated the main control panel. It was counting down from fifty—forty-nine, forty-eight, forty-seven …

Other monitors were alive now, showing the missile on its launch-pad. The clock was still counting down, through the thirties, twenties, into single figures … ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five …

Using the wall behind him as a lever, the Doctor kicked fiercely backwards, sending his wheeled chair skidding into the main control console. He lashed frantically with his feet at the instrument panel, but the guard pulled him back, and the Doctor’s feet flailed uselessly in the air. Two … one … blast-off! Helplessly the Doctor watched as the missile lifted from its pad and set off on the brief journey towards the Kaled dome.

Now everyone’s attention shifted back to the monitors showing the dome as, battered and broken, it awaited final destruction. There was a blinding flash, a distant explosion that shook the control room. When the smoke cleared the Kaled dome had disappeared.

Flames roared in the crater that had replaced it, like those of some newly-born volcano.

Cheers and shouts echoed through the Thal control room. Only the Doctor sat silent, his head slumped on his chest, appalled as always by the corrupting brutality of war. Thousands of their fellow-creatures dead, and these people were cheering. On top of that, there was his own, personal loss.

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