The Green Death begins slowly. In a small Welsh mining
village a man emerges from the disused colliery covered in a
green fungus. Minutes later he is dead.

UNIT, Jo Grant and DOCTOR WHO in tow, arrive on the
scene to investigate, but strangely reluctant to assist their
enquiries is Dr Stevens, director of the local refinery
Panorama Chemicals.

Are they in time to destroy the mysterious power which
threatens them all before the whole village, and even the
world, is wiped out by a deadly swarm of green maggots?


ISBN 0 426 11543 0
               DOCTOR WHO
                 AND THE
               GREEN DEATH
Based on the BBC television serial Doctor Who and the Green Death
by Robert Sloman by arrangement with the British Broadcasting
                         Corporation


                MALCOLM HULKE




                         published by
                   The Paperback Division of
                    W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd
A Target Book
Published in 1975
by the Paperback Division of W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd
A Howard & Wyndham Company
44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

Copyright © 1975 by Malcolm Hulke and Robert Sloman
‘Doctor Who’ series copyright © 1975 by the British
Broadcasting Corporation

Made and printed in Great Britain by
The Anchor Press Ltd, Tiptree, Essex


ISBN 0 426 11543 0

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way
of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise
circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of
binding or cover other than that in which it is published and
without a similar condition including this condition being
imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
CONTENTS

1 ‘Wealth in Our Time!’
2 The Doctor Plans a Holiday
3 Land of My Fathers
4 Into the Mine
5 Escape!
6 The Sluice Pipe
7 The Egg
8 The Maggots
9 The Swarm
10 The Green Death
11 Chrysalis
12 One World, One People, One BOSS!
                         1
               ‘Wealth in Our Time!’
In his forty years as a coal miner Ted Hughes had never seen
anything like it. He stood in one of the deserted mine’s main
galleries, not believing his eyes...
     Llanfairfach Colliery, in a mountainous part of Wales, had
been closed for some time. No one in the village saw the sense of
this—particularly the miners who had spent their lives hewing
coal from the pit. There was still ample coal down there, enough
for another hundred years of mining. But government
economists in London had ‘proved’ it was better business to buy
oil overseas than to mine coal here in Britain. So, Llanfairfaeh’s
coal mine had been closed and its miners put out of work. But
just in case it should ever be needed again, a handful of older
miners were kept on to make monthly inspections. Today it had
been Ted Hughes’s turn to put on the traditional helmet with its
miner’s lamp, and to descend alone the 500 yards into the
mine...
     The inspection followed a set pattern. He walked along one
gallery after another, checking the props that held up the roof,
checking water levels where water seeped in, pausing from time
to time to listen. Sometimes he would hear a faint creaking
sound—the mine talking, as he and his mates called it. If the
sound was soft and gentle, like a woman murmuring in sleep,
the mine was safe. But if the sound was ever harsh and sharp, it
warned of danger, and the possibility of a gallery roof collapsing.
In his forty years as a miner, Ted had known four major roof
collapses; men had been crushed to death or left trapped to die
of suffocation. And the minor accidents—chunks of rock falling
from the roof, breaking an arm or leg, injuries which left a man
crippled for life—were too numerous to remember.
     After two hours of walking the galleries and checking the
props, Ted sat down for a ten-minute break. He had a thermos
flask of tea and some cheese sandwiches that his wife had made
for him. As he pourecl himself some tea the old sadness came
over him. He looked up and down the section of gallery where
he was sitting, thinking back on the old times when the mine had
been worked and was full of his friends. There was no one to
talk to now. Economists in London had made a calculation, and
the friendly world of Ted Hughes had been brought to an end.
     He finished his sandwiches and was just about to start on the
next part of the inspection when he noticed the green
phosphorescent glow. It was coming from the far end of the
gallery.
     There is no natural light in a mine. The only light is
artificial, and comes either from bulbs along the galleries or the
lamps on the helmets of the miners. Ted’s first reaction,
therefore, was that he was no longer alone.
     ‘Hello,’ he called, ‘who’s down there?’
     Pleased at the prospect of human company, he walked down
the gallery towards the green glow. Then it struck him as odd
that anyone should bring a green light into a coal mine.
     ‘Hello?’ he called again, pausing this time. ‘Who’s down
there?’
     Again no answer, but this time a faint bubbling sound. Ted
hurried forward. He still could not see the source of the light. It
was apparently round a corner of the gallery, and he was eager
to know what caused it. If anyone had been given permission to
come down into the mine, Ted should have been told. But he
couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would want to.
     Finally Ted reached the corner of the gallery, and then he
saw it. Green glowing sludge was pouring in from a crack in the
roof, cascading down a wall and forming a pool on the floor.
The pool of sludge was already two or three inches thick in some
places, and it bubbled as though alive.
     Ted moved forward cautiously. Instinctively he wanted to
touch it, but common sense told him to keep his distance. He
backed away. Then, as he turned to go, a crack appeared in the
ceiling above him. He looked up in time to see green sludge start
to pour through from above. Before he had time to jump out of
the way, a droplet of sludge landed on his left trouser leg.
Without thinking, he tried to brush it off. The sludge stuck to his
fingers and he could feel it bite into the skin. He rubbed them
against the rocky wall of the mine. The surplus sludge went from
his fingers on to the wall. But the parts of his fingers that had
touched the sludge now glowed green.
                  His fingers now glowed green...

     He raced along the gallery towards the mine’s lift shaft.
When he got to the lift, panting for breath, he looked at his
fingers in horror. The whole of his hand was now glowing bright
green. He fell into the colliery lift, slammed the gat., and pulled
the lever that would hurtle him 500 yards up to the surface.

While the village of Llanfairfach had lost its coal mine, it had
gained Panorama Chemicals. This was a new industry in the
village, with a small oil refinery, very modern office buildings,
and an imposing set of gates and high fences to keep out
intruders.
     A large number of villagers were gathered outside the main
gat. when Dr Thomas Stevens, managing director of Panorama
Chemicals, arrived in his big black chauffeur-driven car. As the
gates opened to admit the car, angry fists waved at Dr Stevens
and a number of posters were held out in front of him. They
read ‘Free Wales’, ‘English Out!’, and ‘Jobs for Coal Miners. The
elegantly dressed Dr Stevens smiled back at everyone through
the glass windows of his vast limousine, and the car glided
forward to the front entrance of the main administration block.
Mark Elgin, the company’s public relations officer, was standing
there to greet Dr Stevens. Elgin opened the car’s door, and Dr
Stevens stepped out.
     ‘Welcome back, sir,’ said Elgin. ‘What’s the news?’
     ‘It’s all good,’ said Dr Stevens. Then he gestured to the
crowd on the other side of the main gate. ‘How long has this
been going on?’
     ‘Since early this morning,’ said Elgin. ‘The usual un-
employed layabouts.’ Elgin came from a working-class
background himself, but through being bright at examinations
had gone to university, and now considered himself superior to
others less fortunate.
     Dr Stevens, who was feeling in a slightly more benevolent
mood, put on a show of concern for the people crowded on the
other side of the gate. ‘But what’s worrying them this time?’ he
asked.
     ‘I suppose, sir,’ said Elgin, ‘they want to know what is going
to happen.’
     ‘In that case,’ replied Dr Stevens, ‘I shall tell them.’ He went
forward to the gate so that the people could hear him, and
waved a piece of paper at them. ‘I have here in my hand,’ he
said slowly and loudly, ‘a paper which will mean a great deal to
all of you.’ He paused for dramatic effect, then called out:
‘Wealth in our time!’
     A small cheer went up from some members of the village
crowd. Dr Stevens took a couple of steps nearer to the gates.
     ‘Of course we all regret that the National Coal Board closed
down the mine,’ he said, not regretting it at all himself but
knowing this would please his listeners. ‘But we must not be
bitter. We have to face facts. Coal is a dying industry. Oil is our
future now, and the Government agrees with me. They have not
only given us the go-ahead for our plans—they have promised
us money for expansion. I have it here in black and white.’ He
waved the paper again. Actually it was the menu from the hotel
where he had stopped off to have lunch, but he knew no one
could get near enough to read it. He really did have a letter
from the Government in his brief case in the car but he couldn’t
be bothered to fetch it. ‘This means money for all of us. More
jobs, more houses, more cars.’
     A tall young man shouted something in Welsh. He had a
tousled head of black hair, blue jeans and a polo neck sweater,
and stood out from the crowd.
     Dr Stevens smiled, as he had been taught to smile at his
minor public school when he couldn’t understand something.
‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he said, ‘but I haven’t mastered your
language yet.’
     ‘Then I’ll repeat it in English,’ shouted the young man.
‘What you’re offering means more muck, more devastation, and
more death.’
     Elgin sidled up beside Dr Stevens and spoke quietly. ‘That’s
Professor Jones. He’s a trouble maker.’
     ‘If he’s the Professor Jones,’ said Dr Stevens, ‘he is also a
Nobel Prize winner.’ Dr Stevens was always impressed with
success because he was a snob.
     ‘Because of that Nobel Prize,’ said Elgin, ‘he gets his name in
the newspapers a lot. I suggest, sir, you go easy with him.’
     Dr Stevens nodded, then raised his voice again to the crowd.
‘It seems that some do not agree with my vision of the future.
But there are always those who resist progress.’
     ‘You call it progress?’ shouted Professor Jones. He turned to
the villagers. ‘Don’t listen to him. He’s only interested in fatter
profits for Panorama Chemicals at the expense of your land, the
air you breathe, and the health of your kids.’
     Dai Evans, one of the older villagers, spoke up. ‘It’s all right
for you,’ he shouted at the young professor. ‘You can afford to
live the way you want to. We need jobs. We don’t want to live on
nuts.’
     The crowd laughed. In Llanfairfach, young Professor Jones
was respected but not accepted. To be accepted you had to have
three generations of dead behind you in the village graveyard;
above all, both you and they had to he miners. Professor Clifford
Jones had come to the village only two years ago. He and some
friends had bought a big old house where they set up The
Wholeweal Community. They lived together communally,
refused to own motor cars and would cat only natural foods.
Thus they carried out a living protest against pollution and the
destruction by industry of our natural environment. The
villagers recognised the good intentions of The Wholeweal
Community, but couldn’t help joking about them. Their house
was known locally as The Nut Hatch because the Wholewealers
were believed to eat nuts instead of meat.
     Professor Jones went red in the face at Dai Evans’s mark. He
earnestly wanted to help the villagers—to help everybody—and
it threw him off his stroke when they were too ignorant to
understand him. He replied in a stream of Welsh.
     Morgan the milkman cut in sharply: ‘For goodness’ sake,
man, stop talking Welsh with that stupid Cardiff accent. You
only learnt it out of a book. You know half of us have forgotten
how to speak it.’
     ‘Then more’s the pity,’ said Professor Jones. He turned to
Dai Evans. ‘I’m surprised with you, Dai Evans. Of course you
need a job—it’s every man’s right to have work. But there
should be a coal mine for you to work in, not a chemicals
factory!’
     ‘I’m facing facts,’ replied Dai Evans. ‘The Government says
coal is finished. It’s oil now.’
     Professor Jones asked, ‘Were you facing facts when you went
on strike for seven months?’
     Dai Evans blushed and everyone went quiet. The memory of
the General Strike in 1926 was still with many of them. For
seven bitter months the coal miners had remained on strike until
finally they were defeated because they had no food.
     ‘I was only a boy in those days,’ said Dai Evans quietly,
remembering the humiliation of the miners’ de-feat. ‘I learnt
that sometimes you have to give in.’
     ‘Even if it means you are being exploited?’ asked Professor
Jones.
     ‘The workers have always had bosses,’ said Dai Evans,
‘people who live off our backs, so we might as well accept that.
It’s all right for you to tell us what to do, boyo, with your
university education. But we’re simple people, and none of us
has got himself tens of thousands of pounds winning a Nobel
Prize—’
     Dai Evans stopped mid-sentence. From the direction of the
mine they all heard the wail of the pit head siren. It could mean
only one thing—a disaster in the mine. Without another thought
the crowd of villagers turned and ran towards the closed mine.
     ‘There’s no one down there,’ said Professor Jones as he ran
beside Dai Evans. ‘How can there be an accident?’
      ‘There was Ted Hughes went down for an inspection this
morning,’ Dai Evans answered, panting to keep up with the
younger man.
      The first villager to reach the mine was Bert Pritchard, in his
fifties but lithe and wiry as a whippet. He went straight into the
pit head office. Whoever had pulled the siren lever must be in
there. He came out at once, his face white, and his hands raised
to the crowd.
      ‘Maybe the professor should come in here,’ he shouted. ‘He
might be able to understand it.’
      Professor Jones pushed his way forward. ‘What is it?’
      ‘See for yourself,’ said Bert Pritchard.
      Professor Jones entered the office, followed by Dai Evans
and Bert Pritchard. Ted Hughes was seated there, his hand still
on the siren lever as he had pulled it. By his stillness and staring
eyes they knew he was dead.
      His hands and face and neck were glowing bright green.
                       2
           The Doctor Plans a Holiday
In the Doctor’s laboratory at UNIT Headquarters Jo was
reading the morning newspaper, eating an apple, and
occasionally looking up to see what the Doctor was doing. The
door of the TARDIS was open and the Doctor kept popping in
and out making adjustments to an electrical circuit unit. After a
while Jo asked:
      ‘What are you trying to do?’
      The Doctor, about to enter the TARDIS again, paused. ‘I’m
not trying to do anything. I’m doing it.’
      ‘Great,’ said Jo. ‘But what is it?’
      ‘I’m preparing the TARDIS to travel to Metebelis Three.’
      Jo asked, ‘Whatever for?’
      ‘I thought we could do with a little holiday,’ said the Doctor.
‘It’s a particularly beautiful planet. Everything is blue, even its
sun.’
      ‘What if you’re needed here?’ said Jo. ‘Have you asked the
Brigadier’s permission to take leave?’
      ‘My dear Jo,’ said the Doctor, ‘I’m not bound hand and foot
to UNIT. I’m the scientific adviser, not a clerk. I am free to go
and come as I please.’
      ‘Provided you can make the TARDIS actually go anywhere,’
retorted Jo. ‘I thought the Time Lords decided where it could
go?’
      The Doctor looked quite affronted. ‘I admit there have been
occasional problems, but this time I shall be in complete control.
Metebelis Three is somewhere I’ve always wanted to show you—’
      But Jo wasn’t listening. Something in the newspaper had
caught her eye. ‘Listen to this,’ she said indignantly, and read
from the newspaper : ‘“The Ministry has at last given the green
light to Panorama Chemicals.”’
     The Doctor completely misunderstood Jo’s sudden
interruption of his train of thought. ‘Not a green light,’ he said,
‘a blue light. The sky is blue, the ground is blue. They even have
some very pretty blue birds there...’
     But Jo was equally absorbed. ‘Listen to this bit,’ she said, and
read from the newspaper again : ‘“Common-sense has
triumphed at last”.’ She threw down the paper. ‘Don’t the
Government realise the pollution that’ll be caused if Panorama
Chemicals goes ahead?’
     ‘Also,’ the Doctor went on, ‘they have some very beautiful
blue sapphires, and I hope to get hold of one.’
     ‘Were you listening to me?’ asked Jo.
     ‘You seem to have gone off at a tangent,’ said the Doctor.
     ‘I’m going to do more than that,’ said Jo. ‘I’m going to go off
at a... Well, I mean I’m going to pack a suitcase.’
     ‘What a good idea,’ approved the Doctor. ‘I should have the
TARDIS ready to leave in a few minutes.’
     ‘The TARDIS?’ said Jo. ‘Oh no, I mean that I’m going to
this place in Wales, Llanfairfach.’
     The Doctor looked astounded. ‘Whatever for?’
     ‘Why don’t you read the newspaper sometimes?’ said Jo,
making for the door. ‘Then you’d know what for.’ She stormed
out.
     The Doctor carefully put down the electrical circuit unit and
picked up the discarded newspaper. He was just beginning to
read about the Government’s decision to support Panorama
Chemicals when the Brigadier came in.
     ‘Morning, Doctor,’ he called chirpily. ‘Reading the
newspaper, I see.’
     ‘How very observant of you,’ said the Doctor.
     ‘Well,’ said the Brigadier, ‘I’ve got a very interesting little
job for you. Chap in Wales came up from a mine glowing bright
green. Think you might be able to find out why?’
     ‘Why what?’ asked the Doctor.
     ‘Why he’s glowing bright green,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Bit
odd, don’t you think?’
     ‘Has anyone tried asking him?’ said the Doctor.
     The Brigadier put on his solemn expression, reserved for
State occasions and military funerals. ‘The poor fellow is dead.’
     ‘Surely that’s something for the police,’ said the Doctor.
‘We’re not policemen.’
     The Brigadier lowered his voice, even though no one could
possibly be listening to their conversation. ‘Between you and me,
Doctor, there may be international implications. Possibility of
sabotage at Panorama Chemicals.’
     ‘It’s all I keep hearing about this morning,’ protested the
Doctor, ‘this firm called Panorama Chemicals.’
     ‘Big stuff,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Important connections at
high levels. UNIT’s duty is to protect them. My duty.’
     ‘Then do your duty, Brigadier,’ said the Doctor. ‘Play at
being a policeman if you wish.’
     Jo entered wearing a raincoat and carrying a small suitcase.
‘I think I left my newspaper,’ she said.
     ‘Where are you off to?’ asked the Brigadier.
     ‘Wales,’ answered Jo, taking her newspaper from the
Doctor. ‘To do something about Panorama Chemicals before it
kills us all.’
     ‘My dear young woman,’ said the Brigadier, ‘may I remind
you that you are a member of UNIT, and I have just received
orders to protect Panorama Chemicals—‘
     ‘Then you’d better issue an order for my arrest,’ Jo cut in.
‘Fling me into a dungeon, have me court martial-led.’ She made
for the door.
     The Brigadier turned to the Doctor for help.. ‘Doctor,
please, tell her she must remain here.’
     ‘She works for you,’ said the Doctor, ‘not me.’
     The Brigadier appealed to Jo. ‘Miss Grant, you could at least
explain what you have in mind!’
     ‘I could,’ she said, ‘but I don’t think you would understand.
Our stupid Government has told Panorama Chemicals that they
can go ahead with their plans to try and manufacture oil
artificially. The result could be universal pollution. There’s a
man called Professor Clifford Jones who’s fighting against
Panorama Chemicals. He needs all the support he can get. So
I’m going to help him.’
     ‘I’ve heard of that man,’ said the Brigadier. ‘He’s an
impractical dreamer.’
     Jo tucked the newspaper neatly under her arm, ready to go.
‘So, sir, were Jesus of Nazareth, Christopher Columbus, and
Marconi.’
     The Brigadier studied Jo for a moment, then smiled. ‘Well,
perhaps we can discuss this on the way.’
     ‘What do you mean, sir?’
     ‘I have to go there too,’ said the Brigadier. ‘My mission is
rather different from yours, but you could at least accept a lift.’
He turned back to the Doctor. ‘I hope you will be coming along
as well, Doctor.’
     The Doctor was preoccupied with his electrical circuit unit.
‘Sorry, Brigadier. I’m not a policeman, and I am going to
Metebelis Three. Miss Grant can explain to you where that is on
your little jaunt.’
     ‘I see.’ The Brigadier’s face was grim. He was not used to his
orders being disobeyed. He returned his attention to Jo. ‘Well,
Miss Grant, I’ll meet you in the car park in ten minutes.’ He
stalked out, ignoring the Doctor.
     ‘Tell me,’ said the Doctor,’‘why are you really going to this
place?’
     ‘Because I’ve read so much about Professor Jones. He’s
fighting for everything that’s important—the sort of things
you’ve always fought for.’ Jo paused. ‘In a way he reminds me of
a... well, a younger you.’
     ‘I don’t know whether to feel flattered or insulted,’ said the
Doctor, smiling. ‘But don’t worry. I do understand.’ He moved
over to the TARDIS. ‘I hope he lives up to your expectations.’
     ‘Doctor,’ said Jo, suddenly apprehensive, ‘you will be
coming back from this Metebelis place?’
     ‘After I’ve had a little holiday,’ he said. ‘Sure you wouldn’t
like to come along? According to the Time Lords’ files there are
no monsters, only a few friendly animals. The weather is always
fine, and beautiful blue flowers grow in profusion.’
     She shook her head. ‘My place is here on Earth, Doctor.
Have a good trip.’
     The Doctor entered the TARDIS, then looked out from the
door. ‘Tell the Brigadier I’ll follow you both down to Wales
later.’
     Jo beamed. ‘That’s marvellous!’
     But the Doctor had already closed the door. Almost
immediately Jo heard the sound of the TARDIS dematerialising,
like the trumpeting of a thousand wild elephants. Then, as she
watched, the battered old police box slowly disappeared.

Two million light years away the little planet called Metebelis
Three slowly orbited its huge blue sun. No space traveller had
landed there in three hundred thou-sand years since a lone
Time Lord stayed for a few hours and wrote up the report that
was later filed by the Time Lords.
    The silence of a valley of blue rock was suddenly broken by
the arrival of the TARDIS. Using hyperdrive, passing through
Time and space, the TARDIS had travelled the two million light
years in nil-time. Inside the TARDIS the Doctor made his usual
checks of external atmosphere, gravity, and the possible
presence of harmful radiation. The dials and meters on his
console proved that in the previous three hundred thousand
years, nothing had changed. Metebelis Three was as safe and
inviting as it had always been. Through a monitor screen set
over the console, the Doctor was able to look out onto the valley.
He saw a bed of huge blue flowers growing quite close to where
the TARDIS had landed. A bright blue butterfly had just settled
on one of the flowers.
     Looking forward to his holiday on the little planet, the
Doctor opened the door and stepped out. His particular quest
was to find the blue sapphires for which the planet was famous.
These, according to the Time Lords’ files, were at the top of a
mountain not far from this particular valley. He closed the door
of the TARDIS behind him, locked it and pocketed the key.
Then he strode over to take a closer look at the flowers and the
butterfly.
     As the Doctor approached the flowers they turned their
heads towards him, as though in greeting. Then their petals
opened to the full, and from inside each flower came a
venomous hissing sound. The butterfly rose up and flew straight
at the Doctor’s face. Droplets of venom struck the Doctor’s hands
and face, stinging him. Alarmed, the Doctor stepped back. A
ground plant with straggling blue tentacles wrapped itself
around his right ankle. As he dragged his foot away, three
enormous blue birds swept down at him from the sky,
squawking and trying to nip at his face with their blue beaks.
The Doctor raised his hands to fight them off. One of the birds
bit his finger.
    From further down the valley came the pounding of hooves.
He turned to see a herd of blue unicorns bearing down upon
him.
    The Doctor ran for his life, pursued by blue birds, blue
unicorns, and spat at with venom by blue flowers.
    His holiday was not turning out quite as he had hoped.
                          3
                  Land of My Fathers
The Brigadier pulled on the handbrake of his jeep. ‘I trust two
weeks will give you enough time to do whatever it is you want,
Miss Grant?’ They had stopped outside a rambling old
farmhouse on the edge of the village of Llanfairfach. Over the
door of the house were painted with loving care the words
‘WELCOME TO WHOLEWEAL.’ With less loving care someone
else had chalked on the wall of the house ‘THE NUT HATCH’,
and ‘NUTTERS GO BACK TO CARDIFF’.
     Jo reached into the back of the jeep for her suitcase. ‘I’ve no
idea, sir. It depends how much Professor Jones needs help.’
     ‘You realise,’ said the Brigadier, ‘that I ought to put you on
a charge for dereliction of duty? However, while you were busy
saying goodbye to the Doctor, I checked your file. You have two
weeks’ leave owing to you.’
     ‘Thank you very much,’ said Jo, getting out of the jeep. ‘I’ll
bear that in mind.’
     The Brigadier looked at the big old house. ‘Bit run down,
don’t you think? Windows haven’t been cleaned in months.’
     ‘Then that’s something I can do to help,’ said Jo pertly.
     ‘The place probably needs re-plumbing and re-wiring,’ the
Brigadier went on, amusing himself at Jo’s expense. ‘Still, I
suppose you know best.’
     ‘I can survive without luxury,’ said Jo, although looking at
the house she began to wonder what it might be like inside.
‘There haven’t been any grand hotels in my work with the
Doctor, you know.’
     ‘Oh well,’ said the Brigadier. ‘If you get fed up with the
Wholeweal Community, you know where to find me. Over at
Panorama Chemicals.’
     ‘On the other side,’ said Jo.
     ‘Unlike you, Miss Grant, I have an open mind about
Panorama Chemicals.’
     ‘There are times, sir,’ said Jo, ‘when I think you have an
open mind about everything.’
     ‘Meaning I have no opinions?’
     ‘Meaning,’ said Jo politely, ‘that it’s important to have
opinions, and to stick to them.’
     ‘I suspect,’ said the Brigadier, letting out the hand-brake,
‘that this conversation is verging on insubordination.’ He smiled
to show he meant no harm. ‘Best of luck.’
     ‘Thank you, sir.’ Jo suddenly remembered the important
thing she should tell the Brigadier. ‘And sir?’
     The Brigadier was just about to drive away. ‘Yes?’
     ‘I almost forgot. The Doctor told me to say that he’ll be
along soon.’
     ‘How very kind of you to have remembered,’ said the
Brigadier. ‘If it had crossed your mind to tell me earlier, I might
have enjoyed the drive from London.’ He let in the clutch, and
the jeep drove away.
     Jo went up to the door of the house and pulled an old-
fashioned door bell. No bell rang inside; instead, the knob and
some rusty wire came away in her hand. She put the knob down
carefully on the step, and tapped on the door. Nothing
happened. Cautiously she pushed the door, found it was
unlocked. She looked inside.
     ‘Hello?’
     No answer. The walls of the hallway were white-washed and
clean but the hall had the musty smell of damp. Jo crept into the
hall and followed a corridor leading to the back of the house.
She found a door with a notice reading ‘ROOM FOR LIVING’,
tapped, and looked into the room. It had a few old armchairs
and a radio that might have come out of a museum. She went on
down the corridor, found another door with a notice which read
‘TOADSTOOLS, PROFESSORS, AND OTHER THINGS—
WATCH IT!’ Jo tapped on the door and was just about to push
it open when a male voice bellowed, ‘Come in!’
     Jo went in. It was a sort of laboratory with a work bench,
Bunsen burner, microscope and cupboards. A young man in
blue jeans and a polo neck sweater was delicately taking a slice
from a strange-looking fungus and mounting it on a microscope
slide.
     ‘Excuse me,’ Jo started to say.
     ‘Shut the blasted door,’ shouted the young man, without
looking up. ‘It says outside “watch it”, and you didn’t.’
     ‘Didn’t what?’
     ‘You didn’t watch it.’ He placed the slice of fungus on the
slide and seemed satisfied. ‘You could have ruined a month’s
work by letting the temperature in here drop half a degree.’
     ‘How do you ever get in and out,’ Jo asked, ‘without
opening the door sometimes?’
     ‘Ah, good point,’ said the young man. ‘But I watch it,
Understand?’
     ‘No,’ said Jo. ‘But it doesn’t matter. I’m Jo Grant, from
London. I rang up and spoke to someone called Nancy, whoever
she is. I’ve come to help Professor Jones.’
     The young man flashed a glance at her. ‘And how do you
propose to help Professor Jones? You’re not old enough.’
     Jo was outraged but tried not show it. ‘I’ve been assistant to
an eminent scientist for some time, you know.’
     ‘No, I didn’t,’ said the young man. ‘How should I know if
you don’t tell me?’
     ‘Well, I’m telling you!’
     He stopped his work and looked at her, weighing her up.
‘Know anything about entomology?’
     ‘Insects? Yes, a little.’
     ‘Then tell me,’ said the young man, ‘what’s got twenty legs, a
yellow body about two inches long and big red pincers on the
front end?’
     ‘I’ve no idea,’ Jo answered.
     ‘Pity,’ said the young man, ‘because there’s one crawling up
your left leg.’
     Jo gave a screech, and brushed at her leg. But there was no
insect. The young man had been joking. ‘That wasn’t very
funny,’ said Jo.
     ‘It was from where I’m standing,’ the man assured her.
‘Why do you want to help this Professor Jones fellow?’
     ‘I’d like to put a spanner in Panorama Chemicals’ works.’
     ‘I see,’ said the man. ‘Ever gone to bed hungry?’
     ‘Not that I can remember. Why, is there nothing to eat in
this house?’
     The young man didn’t answer the question, but continued
with his own train of thought. ‘Every night millions of people in
the world go to sleep hungry. And those of us who do have
enough food are starved of everything else a man needs to live
like a man—‘
     Jo couldn’t resist butting in. ‘Do you always use the word
“man” when you mean “human being”?’
     The young man laughed. ‘Oh, very good! After that, you’ll
never believe that I support women’s liberation, will you? But
please try to pardon a slip of the tongue.’
     ‘Thank you,’ said Jo. ‘Now please continue.’
     ‘Here at Wholeweal we’re trying to find out how to live in a
different way. We want to be human beings again—not slaves of
machines and industry and finance.’
     ‘Do you want a world without any machines at all?’ asked Jo.
     ‘That would be stupid,’ said the young man. ‘What matters
is the type of machines we use.’
     ‘What’s your solution?’
     ‘Solar energy,’ he said emphatically. ‘The sun is producing
great quantities of energy, and we could use it. Instead, we burn
oil one way and another, and pollute the air we breathe. And we
could use the movement of the wind and the tides and the
rivers. Are you warm enough?’
     Jo was surprised at the question. ‘Yes, thank you.’
     ‘Heat from the river,’ he explained. ‘We have a water-wheel
in the river at the back of the house. That drives an electrical
generator and the electricity keeps the house warm. Alternative
technology, you see. No waste. No pollution. Now Panorama
Chemicals hope to produce 25% more petrol and diesel fuel
from a given quantity of crude oil. But do you realise how
they’re going to do that?’
     Jo shook her head. ‘Not properly.’
     ‘The process must be based on Bateson’s polymerisation.
And that means thousands of gallons of waste. A thick sludge
you can’t break down, like liquid plastic.’ He paused. ‘I think it’s
connected with the death of Ted Hughes.’
     ‘The green man?’ asked Jo. ‘You mean they’ve been
pumping this sludge down into the old mine here?’
     He nodded. ‘Could be.’
     ‘That’s terrible,’ said Jo. She looked around the make-shift
laboratory. ‘What exactly are you doing in here?’
     ‘Another side of our work,’ said the young man. ‘Very soon
the world’s going to need something to replace meat. A high
protein fungus could be the answer.’ He turned to her.
‘Wholeweal isn’t a place for drop-outs, you know.’
     ‘I didn’t imagine it was,’ she said quickly.
     ‘I agree that we’ve escaped from the rat race coming here,’
he went on, ‘the city pressures and the foul air. But we are trying
to do things that may help the whole world.’
     ‘This fungus idea,’ said Jo, ‘did Professor Jones think of
that?’
     ‘Professor Jones?’ For a moment the young man seemed
puzzled, then he smiled. ‘Oh yes, one of his ideas. You’ve never
met him I suppose?’
     ‘Remember, I’ve only just arrived.’
     ‘He can be pretty repulsive at times,’ said the young man.
‘Talks a lot about “love thy neighbour” then doesn’t notice the
people under his feet. He bites his fingernails and sometimes he
just forgets to bath.’
     ‘He is also a Nobel Prize winner,’ said Jo, defensively, ‘and a
very brilliant man.’
     ‘But he’s only human—or do you regard him as a saint?’
     Jo had read so much about the professor, she was affronted
by this young man’s remarks. ‘Professor Clifford Jones is just
about the most human human being alive today! And I think
you’re being very nasty about him.’
     The door flew open. A plump woman, aged about thirty,
came in and quickly closed the door behind her. ‘Lunch is
ready.’ She noticed Jo. ‘Oh, hello.’
     ‘I’m Jo Grant,’ said Jo.
     ‘And I’m the girl you spoke to on the phone,’ said the
plump woman. She held out her hand. ‘Nancy Banks, but
everyone calls me Mum. I hope Cliff hasn’t been talking too
much nonsense to you.’
     Jo turned in astonishment to the young man. ‘Your name’s
Cliff?’
     ‘At your service,’ said the young man. ‘Professor Clifford
Jones.’
    Jo’s face filled with anger. ‘And you let me go on saying
those things?’
    ‘They were very complimentary,’ said Jones. ‘It’s nice to be
the most human human being.’

While Jo was getting to know Professor Clifford Jones, a half
mile away Brigadier Lethbridge Stewart was meeting Dr Thomas
Stevens, director of Panorama Chemicals, in his modern air-
conditioned office suite. Also present was Mark Elgin, the
company’s public relations officer.
     ‘Security is the main consideration,’ Dr Stevens was saying.
     ‘Yes, of course,’ agreed the Brigadier without thinking,
because it seemed the right thing to say.
     ‘There are these cranks down the road,’ Dr Stevens went on,
‘Professor Jones and his mob of idiots. Mind you, I recognise
that the professor is a very clever young man. He won a Nobel
Prize, you know?’ He added this with some pride, as though it
reflected on him personally to have such a celebrated enemy.
‘We don’t want him, or his kind, getting anything more about us
in the newspapers.’
     Mark Elgin spoke up, deferentially. ‘The Minister of Energy
has already imposed a D notice, sir.’ D notices are sent to all
newspapers, and to television and radio news services, when
there is something the Government wants kept secret.
     ‘That’s come a bit late,’ said Dr Stevens. ‘Still, better late
than never!
     ‘If I may ask,’ said the Brigadier, ‘had the death of the
miner any connection with your company’s activities?’
     ‘I’ve absolutely no idea,’ said Dr Stevens quickly.
     Elgin changed the subject, to get away from the death.
‘Brigadier, the Minister said you’d be bringing along some
scientific chappie...?’
      ‘I hoped to,’ said the Brigadier. ‘He’s on leave at the
moment. If I may return to the question of the miner, I
understand he had turned green...’
      Neither Dr Stevens nor Mark Elgin said anything.
      ‘Is that correct?’ asked the Brigadier.
      ‘My guess,’ said Elgin, ‘is that the poor man had a heart
attack. He wasn’t young, you know.’
      ‘But why should he be green?’ the Brigadier persisted.
      ‘Look, Brigadier,’ said Dr Stevens, ‘your job here is to
protect our establishment against hot-heads. Isn’t that right?’
      The Brigadier did not like being told what his job was. ‘I feel
it also my job, Dr Stevens, to find out about this man’s death.’
      ‘I see.’ Dr Stevens stared out of his plate glass windows at
the Welsh mountains in the distance. ‘Then what do you
propose to do?’
      ‘If I may use your phone,’ said the Brigadier, ‘I’d like to see
if my “scientific chappie” is back from leave yet.’
      ‘By all means.’ Dr Stevens pushed a slimline phone across
the desk towards the Brigadier. ‘But don’t you know when your
own people are supposed to report back for duty?’
      The Brigadier started to dial UNIT Headquarters in
London. ‘Not with this particular man,’ he said. ‘He tends to
take liberties with time.’

Two million light years away, the Doctor stood to catch his
breath on a blue rock mountain. He was exhausted, having run
to escape from the pecking blue birds and the blue unicorns.
      ‘Wait till I tell the Time Lords about this,’ he said to himself.
‘It’s the most unfriendly planet I’ve ever visited.’
      Then he let out a cry as he felt something stick into his foot.
Blue ants an inch long were swarming all over his left foot,
digging through the shoe to get at the human flesh beneath. He
brushed them off, and started climbing again.
     Half an hour later he had reached the top of the little
mountain. As far as the eye could see there were small mountain
peaks. In some of the valleys were lakes of deep blue water.
They looked inviting, but the Doctor by now suspected them all
to be filled with flesh-eating blue fish. He turned his attention to
a cluster of sapphires embedded in the rock. As he reached out
to take one, a shadow fell across him. Looking up he saw the
huge talons of a blue eagle descending on him, its great wings
flapping. The Doctor grabbed the sapphire, thrust it into his
pocket, and ran for his life. The eagle flapped after him, its
talons trying to grab at his head or shoulders. The Doctor zig-
zagged, out-manoeuvring the big ungainly bird. He saw ahead a
forest of blue trees, where the eagle could not follow, and made
for it.
     In the forest, safe from the eagle, the Doctor leant against a
tree to recover his breath. Then he noticed that one of the lower
branches of the tree was moving. As he turned to run again, the
branch whipped round like a snake, but the Doctor was able to
jump free. Still afraid of the eagle hovering outside the forest, he
raced through the trees, avoiding the whiplash of living
branches. Eventually he was through the forest, and back in the
valley where the TARDIS had materialised.
     He raced past beds of beautiful blue flowers that turned
their gorgeous heads and spat stinging venom. Once more he
heard the pounding of hooves, and turned to see at least a
hundred blue unicorns charging towards him down a hill. From
above came the flapping of the blue eagle’s great wings—it had
flown over the forest and was now swooping down with talons
outstretched to tear at the Doctor’s head. A violent streak of blue
lightning suddenly raced across the sky, followed instantly by
torrential blue rain.
     All at once the ground beneath the Doctor’s feet turned into
wet blue slushy mud. Each step now was a great effort. However,
the rain and mud did not slow down the blue unicorns. The
leaders of the herd were racing against each other to be the first
to drive their ugly twisted horns through the Doctor’s body.
Above, the eagle made more determined efforts to grab the
Doctor, and a sharp talon split open his soaking wet jacket at the
shoulder.
     As the Doctor approached the TARDIS he saw squirming
blue snakes writhing in the mud around the entrance. Hoping
for the best, he took out his key, held it firmly in his hand, and
charged straight at the door, aiming the key so that it would go
into the lock without fumbling. The key slid in, he turned it,
pushed the door open, and fell into the safety of the TARDIS,
slamming the door behind him.
     ‘So much for holidays on Metebelis Three,’ he groaned,
panting for breath, his clothes wringing wet. ‘Next time I’ll try
Blackpool.’

A few moments later the TARDIS re-materialised in the Doctor’s
laboratory at UNIT Headquarters. The door opened and the
Doctor tumbled out, his clothes still wet through. He sneezed
violently. The telephone started to ring. He lifted the phone.
      ‘Hello?’
      ‘Ah, there you are, Doctor.’ It was the Brigadier’s voice. ‘I’m
speaking from Llanfairfach. Miss Grant told me that you might
be coming down here after all. I’d like you to use the UNIT
chopper and get here as quickly as possible.’
      ‘Are there any unicorns there?’ said the Doctor. He sneezed
again.
      The Brigadier laughed. ‘I very much doubt it. Is that some
little joke of yours, Doctor?’
      ‘I’m not joking,’ said the Doctor. ‘What about eagles?’
      ‘Not in Wales,’ replied the Brigadier.
      ‘What are the flowers like?’
    There was a note of reprimand in the Brigadier’s voice.
‘Doctor, the business at hand here is serious. But if you must
know about the local flora, I did notice a few wild daffodils.’
    ‘Good,’ said the Doctor. ‘Then I’ll be there straight away!’
                              4
                       Into the Mine
The Brigadier replaced Dr Stevens’s slimline telephone. ‘Well,
that’s a start. The Doctor is on his way.’
      ‘The Doctor?’ asked Mark Elgin.
      ‘My “scientific chappie”, as you call him,’ said the Brigadier.
      ‘What was all that about daffodils?’ asked Dr Stevens.
      ‘The Doctor’s a bit of a botanist,’ said the Brigadier, lying
quickly to cover his embarrassment. ‘Now, gentlemen, if you’ll
excuse me, I think I’ll take a look at that mine.’
      ‘As I understand it, Brigadier,’ said Dr Stevens, rising from
his chair, ‘your purpose here is to protect the interests of
Panorama Chemicals?’
      ‘And so it is,’ agreed the Brigadier. ‘There’ll be no rabble
breaking in to destroy your plant while UNIT’s here. But I think
it is also important for me to know more about that mine. So, if
you’ll excuse me... ‘ He smiled and made for the door.
      ‘Of course,’ said Dr Stevens. ‘Mark, show the Brigadier out.’
      Elgin opened the door. ‘This way, sir.’
      ‘Thank you.’
      Dr Stevens watched them leave his office. Then he pressed a
button on the inter-communication unit on his desk. ‘Send in
Hinks at once,’ he said towards the built-in microphone.
      While he waited for Hinks to arrive he stood at the window
and looked out towards the mountains. Years ago he had
enjoyed climbing mountains. But now his family had all deserted
him, leaving a gap in his life that could only be filled by work.
He was delighted when he was invited to become Director of the
main British plant of Panorama Chemicals because he realised
this was a job of such size and complexity he would be able to
devote night and day to it. What he did not realise was that the
job would provide him with the best and most faithful friend he
had ever had.
      His inter-com buzzed and the voice of his secretary, Stella,
spoke through the built-in loudspeaker. ‘I’ve located Mr Hinks,
sir. He’s on his way to your office.’
      ‘Thank you,’ Dr Stevens said to the inter-com.
      He went back to studying the mountains. Maybe, he
thought, he should try a little climbing again one day.
Unfortunately he would not be able to take his new friend with
him. But the exercise might do him good, and he loved the
sense of history that emanated from those mountains.
      Dr Stevens had enjoyed studying history when he was a boy
at school. Sometimes he wished he was still there. But now he
was a man and had the responsibilities of a man.
      He turned from the window. His headache was starting to
trouble him again. He wished Hinks would hurry and come to
take orders, because he had to get rid of this headache.
      There was a tap on the door and Hinks entered. ‘You
wanted me, sir?’ Hinks was over six feet tall, and very broad-
shouldered. He had a face like an ex-boxer who had lost too
many fights.
      The headache was very bad now. ‘I want you to... ‘ Dr
Stevens knew he was swaying slightly with the pain. ‘I want you
to...’
      ‘Are you all right, sir?’ Although Hinks asked the question
politely there was ice in his voice. There always was.
      ‘The mine,’ said Dr Stevens, ‘nobody must go down the
mine.’
      ‘I’ll see to it,’ said Hinks, grinning. The prospect of any kind
of violence always made Hinks grin. ‘Sure you’re all right, sir?’
      ‘Perfectly all right,’ Dr Stevens lied. ‘Just see no one goes
down the mine. That’ll be all.’
     ‘Right you are, sir.’ Hinks turned and went. Dr Stevens
hated to imagine what Hinks might do to stop people going
down the mine.
     Alone, Dr Stevens staggered over to the door and locked it.
Then he crossed back to his desk, unlocked a little cupboard
built into the side of the desk. His hands were now shaking, and
his head felt like splitting open. He reached into the cupboard
and brought out a very special pair of earphones. Fumbling, he
put them on, plugged the lead into a special socket in his desk
intercom, and slumped back into his chair. The voice of his
friend Boss at once started to talk to him through the earphones,
reassuring Dr Stevens that what he was doing was right. Almost
immediately the headache went away.
           Boss started to talk to him through the earphones

Jo was pleased with the way Nancy, or Mum, had welcomed her,
but she was still angry with Professor Clifford Jones. Over lunch
she met a number of the Wholeweal Community, mainly young
people who had come to Llanfairfach because they were fed up
with the pressures and materialism and pollution of the big
cities. Conversation during the meal was light hearted, and they
seemed pleased to have this newcomer, Jo, in their midst. But as
soon as the meal was over they all went back to their various
occupations. The Nut Hatch was a hive of activity, where these
young people spent their time evolving alternative methods of
production and living. Jo helped Nancy wash up the dishes.
Then she had nothing to do. Everyone was far too busy to
involve her, or even talk to her. Burning with curiosity about the
man who died and went green, she decided to go and look at the
mine.
     The closed mine looked sadly derelict. Grass and weeds
grew over the little narrow gauge railway lines once used for
pushing wheeled tubs of coal. Immediately over the shaft was a
high metal construction with wheels at the top. This was part of
the lift mechanism. When a coal mine is in full life, the wheels at
the top of these metal constructions are turning all the time,
either taking miners down to work, or bringing up the coal they
have hewn from the bowels of the earth—but here everything
was ghostly still.
     As Jo wandered about among mounds of coal dust, the
unused wheeled tubs, and the outhouses and sheds around the
main shaft, a man came out of the pit office and shouted at her.
     ‘Hey!’ he called. ‘What are you doing?’
     Jo went over to him. Like many Welshmen he was short and
dark eyed.
     ‘I’m from UNIT,’ she said. ‘I want to look at the mine.’
     ‘Well now you’ve seen it,’ said the man. ‘So go away. You
can’t walk round here without authority.’
     ‘Where do I get it?’
     ‘National Coal Board,’ said the man, ‘in Cardiff.’
     ‘You’re just trying to be awkward,’ said Jo.
     As he spoke, another short dark-eyed man popped his head
out from the office and called something urgently in Welsh. The
man talking to Jo turned and rushed into the office. Jo followed
and stood at the door. The office was small and untidy, its
wooden floor black with in-grained coal dust. A door led off to
the lift machinery. The man who talked to Jo had grabbed an
old-fashioned telephone. He listened, then spoke in rapid
Welsh.
     ‘What’s happening?’ Jo asked quietly.
     The second man said, ‘One of our mates, Dai Evans, has
gone down the pit. Now he’s in trouble.’ He was too worried to
ask who Jo was or to tell her to go away.
     With one man on the phone, and Jo and the other man
watching him, none of them saw or heard Hinks as he quietly
slipped into the lift machinery by way of its outer door. Hinks
was no engineer, but the lift machinery was simple enough for
him to understand. In a couple of seconds he was able to
sabotage the machinery and make his getaway.
     The man put down the phone. ‘We’ve got to get him out—
quickly!’ He noticed Jo standing by the door. ‘I told you, girl, go
away!’
     ‘If someone’s hurt,’ she said, ‘I could be useful. I’m trained
in first aid.’
     ‘Women don’t go down the pit,’ said the second man.
     ‘Those poor little pit ponies you used to have years ago
down in the mines,’ said Jo, ‘did they all have to be males?’
     ‘There’s a daft question for you,’ said the second man.
     ‘If female ponies can go down a mine,’ said Jo, ‘so can
female humans. Especially if they can be useful. I’m Jo Grant.
Who are you two?’
     ‘Dave Griffiths,’ said the first man.
     ‘Bert Williams,’ said the second.
     ‘Which of you is coming with me?’ asked Jo.
     ‘There’s cheek for you!’ said Bert Williams. ‘Who said you
were going?’
     ‘Could either of you put a splint on a broken leg?’ asked Jo.
‘Or know how to give the kiss of life?’
     Neither answered.
     ‘So you see,’ said Jo. ‘You need me. How do we get down
there?’
     ‘I’ll take her with me,’ said Bert. ‘Perhaps she could be
useful.’ He turned to Jo. ‘We must get a helmet to fit you, miss,
although with a head as big as yours that might be difficult.
Come along.’
     Bert led Jo across to one of the locker rooms, a long low
building with rows of metal lockers where the miners used to
leave their working clothes. There were helmets on the shelves,
and Bert found one to fit Jo. On the front of the helmet was
fastened an electric lamp. Thus equipped, they went back to the
pit head office.
     ‘Has he phoned again?’ Bert asked.
     ‘Nothing,’ said Dave.
     ‘All right,’ said Bert, ‘get ready to operate the machinery.’
     Dave hurried into the room containing the lift machinery.
Bert put on his helmet, and took Jo away from the office towards
the lift. It was like a cage, large enough to carry twenty men at a
time.
     ‘This isn’t like a lift you’ll find in a shop,’ said Bert. ‘We
don’t go down slowly and gradually, with someone to tell you
what you can buy on the different floors. Once we start moving,
we drop like a ruddy stone, and you can see everything go by.’
     ‘I’m not frightened,’ Jo fibbed.
     ‘I was the first time,’ said Bert. ‘Fourteen years old I was,
and scared out of my wits, but I tried not to show it.’
     The cage started to move.
     ‘Here we go,’ said Bert. ‘Hold tight.’
     Suddenly the floor of the cage dropped away from under
Jo’s feet. She felt very sick.
     As the big wheels above the lift shaft began to spin, they
were observed by the Brigadier and the Doctor. They had just
arrived in the Brigadier’s jeep.
     ‘I thought this mine was closed,’ said the Doctor.
     ‘It is, or supposed to be.’ The Brigadier stopped the jeep
and ran to the pit head machine room, the Doctor close behind.
They found Dave Griffiths at the controls. ‘Who’s going down
the mine?’ asked the Brigadier.
     ‘One of my mates and some girl or other,’ said Dave. ‘What’s
it to you?’
     ‘A girl?’ said the Doctor. ‘Please stop the lift immediately.’
     ‘There’s a mate of mine hurt down there,’ said Dave. ‘In
some kind of trouble.’
     ‘All the more reason to stop winding!’ shouted the Doctor.
The look on his face was imploring, the tone of voice imperative.
     ‘Right you are,’ said Dave. He pulled on the brake. Nothing
happened. He pulled harder. The wheels of the lift mechanism
kept spinning. ‘I can’t stop it,’ he screamed, ‘it’s out of control.
Clutch and brake both gone.’
     The Doctor noticed an old iron bar lying on the blackened
floor. He picked it up and wedged it against the main drum of
the machinery. ‘Now reverse the motor,’ he called.
     ‘It won’t work,’ said Dave. ‘We’ll snap the cable.’
     ‘Don’t argue, man,’ said the Doctor. ‘It’s their only chance.’
As he spoke he braced himself and pulled harder on the wedged
iron bar.
     Dave put the electrical motor into reverse. There was a
shower of sparks and smoke bellowed out from the machinery.
Then it stopped. The Doctor released his grip on the iron rod.
‘That’s done it,’ he said.
     ‘That,’ said Dave, ‘has seized up the whole works.’
     The Brigadier looked at a meter on the wall that showed the
depth of either of the twin lifts. ‘According to this, you halted
their descent just twenty feet before they hit the bottom.
Congratulations.’
      ‘It’s all right you congratulating us,’ said Dave, ‘but I told
you, the machine’s seized solid now. Wherever they are in that
lift shaft, they’ve got to hang there until we solve this problem.’

Jo and Bert picked themselves up from the floor of the cage.
The force of the sudden stopping had thrown them both down.
     ‘You all right?’ Bert asked.
     ‘No bones broken,’ replied Jo. ‘Why have we stopped here?’
     ‘Maybe I should write a letter to the National Coal Board
and ask them,’ said Bert. ‘Seriously, I think it was a brake failure.
Can’t happen in theory.’
     ‘I’ve heard those theories before,’ said Jo. ‘How do we get
out of here?’
     ‘First let’s find out how high we are,’ said Bert. He took a
screwdriver from his pocket, and dropped it over the side of the
cage into the total darkness below, and listened as it hit the
ground beneath. ‘I reckon we’re about twenty feet from the
bottom.’
     ‘A good thing we stopped,’ remarked Jo.
     ‘Yes. Another two or three seconds and we’d have had our
thigh bones up under our arm pits.’ He looked around the cage.
‘I think we may be in luck,’ he said, finding a rope in a coil
attached to the wall of the cage. ‘Ever shinned down a rope
before, miss?’
     ‘More than once,’ said Jo. ‘How do we know it’s long
enough?’
     Bert was paying out the rope, measuring it with the span of
his arms. ‘There’s a good twenty feet here.’
     ‘You only guessed we’re twenty feet from the bottom,’ Jo
reminded him.
     ‘Good point,’ said Bert. ‘It’s a logical young woman you are.
So I’ll go first. If I run out of rope and drop ten feet, you may
get a chance to fix a couple of those splints you were talking
about to two broken legs.’ He attached the rope to the frame of
the cage, paid it out over the side, then climbed after it. ‘Don’t
forget we’re down here to help a man in trouble, so maybe we
should take a risk or two.’

The Doctor completed his inspection of the lift machinery. He
wiped his hands on a brightly coloured handkerchief drawn
from one of his capacious jacket pockets, and spoke to Dave and
the Brigadier.
     ‘Absolutely correct diagnosis of the situation,’ he said. ‘It’s
seized solid. Wherever that lift is hanging in the shaft, it’s going
to be there for quite some time.’
     ‘I noticed coming here,’ said the Brigadier, ‘there are two
shafts. Couldn’t we use the other lift?’
     Dave shook his head at the simplicity of this English non-
miner. ‘It’s a counterweight lift system, man. As one goes down
the other comes up. So if one is jammed, the other is jammed,
too.’
     ‘That makes sense,’ said the Doctor, ‘although it doesn’t help
very much.’ He scratched the side of his nose and considered the
problem. ‘What if we made that other lift independent?’
     ‘By Jove,’ said the Brigadier. ‘You mean so that it could
work on its own?’
     ‘That,’ said the Doctor, ‘is what “independent” means.’ He
turned back to Dave. ‘Couldn’t we rig a donkey engine and
pulley system?’
     ‘I suppose we could,’ said Dave. ‘But remember it’s the same
cable running to both lifts. ‘We’d have to cut through that cable
to free the other lift before we could do anything.’
     ‘All right,’ said the Doctor. ‘Where’s your cutting gear?’
     ‘There isn’t any,’ said Dave. ‘The mine’s been out of action
for a year. When it closed, the National Coal Board stripped it of
everything.’
     ‘Then for goodness’ sake,’ said the Doctor, showing a touch
of anger, ‘let’s tell the National Coal Board we need back the
cutting gear, and we need it fast!’
     ‘Have you ever tried to get the Board to do anything fast?’
asked Dave. ‘But I’ve been thinking. I know where there should
be the equipment we need.’
     ‘Where?’
     ‘Panorama Chemicals,’ said Dave, ‘if they’re willing to help
us.’
     The Brigadier moved to go. ‘I’ll get over there and ask them
straight away!’
     ‘Hold your horses, man,’ said Dave. ‘We’re not all savages in
Wales, you know. We’ve got telephones, just like you English.
Come along with me.’
     Dave led the Doctor and the Brigadier back into the pit
head office. He looked up the number he wanted in a grubby
school exercise book, then picked up the phone and dialled.

Dr Arnold Bell placed his carefully prepared report on the big
desk in Dr Stevens’s office. He had expected Dr Stevens to be
there, but found the office deserted. As Chief Scientific Officer of
Panorama Chemicals he felt free to wander into the Director’s
office, especially when he had such an important report as this to
deliver. The report stated in analytical detail that Bateson’s
polymerisation method was definitely working. It meant that for
every ton of crude oil imported from the Middle East, or mined
in the North Sea, Panorama Chemicals would be able to produce
25% more petrol or diesel fuel. The additional profit of the
company might run into millions and millions of pounds.
However, Dr Bell was not concerned with profits—that was Dr
Stevens’s affair. What fascinated Dr Bell was the scientific
achievement. The method resulted in tons of waste fluid, and
this would have to be deposited somewhere. But Dr Bell did not
regard that as his problem. For the time being the waste was
being pumped into the old coal mine. No doubt in time the
company would devise some other means of disposal.
      As he turned to leave the office the desk phone rang. He
picked up the receiver.
      ‘Bell speaking.’
      ‘Is that Panorama Chemicals?’ The voice had a strong Welsh
accent.
      ‘Yes,’ said Dr Bell, ‘you’ve come through on a direct line to
the Director’s office. Can I help you?’
      ‘I’m calling from the mine,’ the voice went on. ‘One of the
lifts has jammed. There are people trapped. We need cable-
cutting equipment. Can you help us?’
      ‘Is anyone hurt?’ Dr Bell was genuinely concerned.
      ‘We don’t know that yet,’ said the voice. ‘Maybe they are
only suspended near the bottom of the shaft. We need cutting
equipment to free the other lift and work it in-dependently if we
can.’
      ‘I’m sure we can help—’
      As Dr Bell spoke the office door opened and Dr Stevens
walked in followed by Hinks. Dr Bell told the caller to hang on,
then quickly relayed the message to Dr Stevens. He expected Dr
Stevens to give immediate orders for the company’s cutting
equipment to be rushed to the mine. Instead, Dr Stevens crossed
to his desk and disconnected the phone.
      ‘It is not company policy to lend equipment,’ said Dr
Stevens. There seemed to be something strange about his voice.
      Dr Bell, the now dead telephone still in his hand, could not
believe his ears. ‘But people are trapped. It could be a matter of
life and death!’
      ‘I’m sorry, Dr Bell, but as from this moment we have no
cutting equipment.’
      ‘That is ridiculous,’ said Dr Bell. ‘I know where it is!’
     ‘And there it shall remain.’ Dr Stevens seated himself behind
his large desk. ‘What’s more, it may be necessary for you to
confirm to other people that we have no cutting equipment.’
     Dr Bell began to realise that the Director was being perfectly
serious. ‘Would you mind explaining to me why on earth we
shouldn’t help these people?’
     ‘The mine must not be investigated,’ said Dr Stevens. ‘You
know that as well as I do.’
     ‘Because that miner died?’
     ‘That, and other reasons.’ Dr Stevens noticed the report
lying on his desk, smiled and changed the subject. ‘Ah, that looks
interesting... ‘ He opened the cover.
     ‘One death is enough,’ said Dr Bell. ‘I’m going to get that
equipment to them.’ He turned to leave and found Hinks had
placed himself in front of the door. ‘Will you get out of my way,
please?’
     ‘Stay where you are, Hinks,’ said Dr Stevens. ‘He must not
leave.’
     Dr Bell swung round. ‘Look here, you have no right to keep
me prisoner—’
     But his outburst was interrupted by a booming voice that
seemed to come from the ceiling.
     ‘Stevens?’
     Dr Stevens looked up, ‘Yes?’
     ‘Process him.’
     ‘Is that wise?’ asked Dr Stevens, speaking to the ceiling.
     ‘It is necessary,’ said the booming voice. ‘Do as I say.
Process.’
     ‘Who on earth was that?’ asked Dr Bell, mystified by the
brief exchange.
     ‘Our boss,’ said Dr Stevens. ‘Yours and mine.’
     ‘I... I don’t understand.’
     ‘You will,’ said Dr Stevens. ‘Very soon.’
Jo lowered herself slowly down the rope. As she swung to and
fro the beam from her helmet played like a search-light as it
swept the sides of the lift shaft. Looking down she could see the
light from Bert’s helmet as he looked up towards her.
      ‘You’ve got another three feet of rope,’ he called. ‘Then
you’ll have to fall the rest of the way. I’m here to catch you.’
      She continued to ease herself down the rope. Then, as she
expected, she felt no more rope between her legs. She lowered
herself another couple of feet and let go, bringing up her knees
a little to make her legs more springy for the final impact. For a
moment she fell through space, then hit the ground. Bert caught
her to steady her.
      ‘Where is he?’
      ‘Over here.’
      Bert led the way to where Dai Evans lay moaning on the
floor of the mine.
      ‘Look,’ said Bert. ‘Look at his arm.’
      Jo looked down, her helmet light playing on Dai Evans.
      His hand and arm were glowing a bright green.
                             5
                          Escape!
The Brigadier’s jeep screeched to a halt outside the Panorama
Chemicals building. He leapt out, ran up the steps. A uniformed
attendant rushed to hold open one of the glass doors.
     ‘I need to see Dr Stevens,’ said the Brigadier. ‘A matter of
the utmost importance.’
     The urgency in is voice impressed the attendant, and he
hurriedly escorted the Brigadier to the Director’s office and
tapped on the door.
     Dr Stevens was sitting at his desk, in conference with Mark
Elgin. They broke off their discussion and listened attentively
while the Brigadier explained what had just happened at the
mine and the pressing need for cable-cutting equipment. The
Brigadier also mentioned that Dr Stevens’s phone seemed to be
out of order. Apparently Dave Griffiths made contact when he
dialled, but then the line went suddenly dead.
     ‘First things first,’ said Dr Stevens when the Brigadier had
finished. ‘Thanks for letting us know about the phone. However,
the immediate problem is the equipment you need, and we shall
be glad to help you in any way possible.’ He touched a button on
his desk inter-corn and spoke towards the microphone. ‘Dr Bell,
could you come in here a moment, please?’
     ‘At once,’ said Dr Bell’s voice over the tiny loudspeaker.
     ‘Dr Bell is our scientific and technical officer,’ Dr Stevens
explained. ‘Very meticulous worker, an idealist in his way.
Many’s the time I’ve had to tell him not to work all night—to go
home to his wife and children.’
     ‘How excellent,’ said the Brigadier, although he wasn’t at all
interested. His mind was fixed on the people who were trapped
in the mine. ‘Will he take long to get here?’
     ‘Hardly,’ Mark Elgin smiled. ‘He works just down the
corridor.’
     There was a tap on the door and a spare ascetic man in a
white coat entered. ‘You wanted me, Dr Stevens?’
     ‘Our good friend the Brigadier needs our help,’ said Dr
Stevens. ‘Apparently there’s been another accident in the mine.’
     The Brigadier swung round to greet Dr Bell. ‘Good
afternoon, Doctor. We desperately need cutting equipment—
oxyacetylene, that sort of thing, and we need it fast.’
     Dr Bell shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Brigadier, but we have
nothing of that kind here.’
     The Brigadier was astounded. ‘In an industrial undertaking
of this size?’
     Dr Stevens also seemed most surprised. ‘But surely, Dr Bell,
we should have all sorts of emergency equipment? What’s
happened to it?’
     Dr Bell shrugged. ‘The emergency equipment was
withdrawn some time ago, sir, to be replaced by thermic lances.
They haven’t arrived yet.’
     ‘But that’s incredible,’ said Elgin. ‘I’m no technician, but I’m
sure I saw oxyacetylene equipment in the stores only last week.’
     Dr Stevens gave him a hard piercing look. ‘As you said, you
are no technician. I’m sure Dr Bell knows what he is talking
about.’ He turned to the Brigadier and smiled. ‘You must think
we are woefully ill-equipped.’
     ‘I do find it rather surprising,’ the Brigadier commented.
     Dr Stevens rose from his desk. ‘I hope you won’t accuse us
of being deliberately obstructive, Brigadier.’ He took the
Brigadier’s arm and started to propel him out of the office in a
friendly way. ‘Have you thought of asking Professor Jones? Ah
but no, I remember. They tried to borrow our equipment some
weeks ago, so presumably they don’t have any themselves.’
     Dr Stevens led the Brigadier away, still talking. Elgin found
himself staring at Dr Bell.
     ‘I can’t believe this,’ said Elgin. ‘We must have some sort of
cutting tools here.’
     ‘I had given an exact account of the position,’ said Dr Bell.
He spoke as though he had rehearsed the sentence.
     Elgin looked closely at Dr Bell. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
     ‘I feel perfectly well, thank you. ‘
     ‘But your voice,’ Elgin persisted. ‘It doesn’t sound like you.’
     ‘I must get on with my work,’ said Dr Bell. He moved
towards the door.
     ‘No, hang on a moment. I think it’s time we had a chat
about our revered Director, Dr Stevens.’
     Dr Bell paused by the door. ‘What about Dr Stevens?’
     Elgin had always liked Dr Bell and felt he could speak his
mind to him. ‘It strikes me as odd how he wants to hush up the
death of the miner who turned green. Is there something going
on that no one’s told me?’
     ‘I cannot discuss our Director with you, Elgin.’
     ‘Elgin?’ Elgin went up close and looked Dr Bell in the eyes.
‘You always call me Mark. What’s the matter with you?’
     Dr Bell put his hand on the door handle, ready to go. ‘Your
attitude will be reported. Disloyalty cannot be tolerated.’
     ‘Disloyalty?’ said Elgin. ‘You’re talking like a robot!’
     ‘The Director will hear of this,’ said Dr Bell. He turned the
handle, opened the door, and marched off down the corridor.
     Elgin watched as Dr Bell went away. Even his walk seemed
different. Elgin suddenly shivered. He felt most uneasy.

‘Are you scared?’ Bert’s voice was gentle.
    ‘I am a bit,’ said Jo. ‘What’s that creaking sound?’
      Bert listened. From the depths of the mine came a slight
creaking noise. ‘That’s nothing,’ he said. ‘We say the old girl—
the mine, that is—is snoring in her sleep. It’s the roof moving a
bit.’
      Jo felt her knees shaking. ‘It’s going to fall in?’
      ‘Shall we say it’s trying to.’ He grinned. ‘That’s what all the
props are for.’
      ‘Have you ever been trapped?’ she asked.
      He nodded, the beam of his helmet light playing up and
down the mine wall as he moved his head. ‘Eight years ago next
November. I’d just finished my snap—lunch, as you would call
it. Then a section of the roof came down. We didn’t see daylight
again for the next two days.’
      ‘But you were all safe?’
      This time he shook his head, his helmet light playing
horizontally to and fro across the mine wall. ‘Six of us never saw
daylight again.’
      Jo was shocked. ‘That’s terrible.’
      He shrugged. ‘You know how many miners are killed a year
in the pits? Fifty, on average. Makes you think, doesn’t it?
Anyway, I shouldn’t be telling you these terrible things when
we’re stuck down here!’ He walked over and looked at Dai
Evans. Dai had stopped moaning. His face was turning bright
green.
      ‘Do you think they’re doing anything to get us out?’ Jo
asked.
      ‘Must be by now,’ said Bert. ‘But I’ve been thinking. Maybe
it’s time we started to get ourselves out.’
      ‘How?’
      ‘That fall eight years ago,’ he said, trying to remember.
‘They finally got us out through an old shaft. Of course, it may
have fallen in by now—it wasn’t in regular use. I don’t want to
lead you on a wild goose chase if I can’t find it again...’
     ‘Anything’s better than sitting here waiting,’ said Jo, getting
to her feet.
     ‘That’s where you’re wrong. Getting lost in one of the
galleries could be a lot worse than sitting on our backsides
hoping for help from up top. But if I could remember the way
we went... ‘ He haunched down, and started to draw a map of
the mine in the coal dust on the floor.
     ‘We’d take Dai Evans with us, of course?’ Jo asked
tentatively.
     Bert looked up at her. ‘He’d hold us back, miss. In any case,
the way he looks, I don’t think he’ll be seeing daylight again.
Ever.’

In the pit head office Dave Griffiths dialled the phone number of
the National Coal Board offices in Cardiff. Watching him was
Professor Jones, who with a few other local people had come
running to the mine on hearing of yet another accident. A girl
answered the phone.
     ‘This is Llanfairfach here,’ said Dave into the phone. ‘Let me
speak to Mr Ron Owen, if you please.’
     ‘I’11 try to find him for you,’ said the girl and went off the
line.
     ‘Surely,’ queried Professor Jones, ‘there must be another
way down into the mine?’
     ‘Uneconomic to have more than one shaft,’ said Dave,
waiting for Mr Owen to come to the telephone. ‘The old private
owners were in coal for profit, weren’t they?’ He heard Mr
Owen speaking on the phone. ‘That you, Ron? Dave Griffiths
here. There’s been another accident—’
     The Doctor stepped through the door from the room
containing the lift machinery. ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ he
cut in.
      Dave asked Mr Owen to hold on for a moment. ‘What are
you talking about, Doctor?’
      ‘I’m saying that what happened was not an accident,’ the
Doctor repeated. He put a metal cotter pin on the desk for Dave
to see. ‘That was lying on the floor near the cages. It had been
removed from the brake linkage. What’s happened to the lifts
was deliberate sabotage!’
      ‘You could be right,’ said Dave. ‘Anyway, we still need
cutting equipment.’ He turned to the phone to report the latest
incident at Llanfairfach colliery.
      As he did so, the Brigadier returned from Panorama
Chemicals. He threw his swagger cane down onto the desk, next
to the cotter pin. ‘Can you believe it, Doctor? A place the size of
that chemical works, and no cutting gear!’ Then he noticed the
cotter pin. ‘What’s that?’
      The Doctor explained his discovery. There was no way the
cotter pin could have fallen out of the brake linkage. It had been
pulled out by someone who wanted to create an ‘accident’.
      ‘You say Panorama have no cutting gear?’ asked the young
Professor Jones, puzzled by this news.
      ‘I saw both the Director there and their chief scientific and
technical officer,’ said the Brigadier. ‘May I ask who you are,
sir?’
      Professor Jones didn’t bother to-answer the question. He
turned to Dave Griffiths, who had just put down the phone.
‘Dave, didn’t you borrow cutting equipment from Panorama
only a fortnight ago?’
      Dave nodded. ‘They let me collect it and put it back myself.
It’s in the storage shed at the back of the power house there.’
      Professor Jones turned back to the Brigadier. ‘You should
have insisted.’
     ‘Should I?’ said the Brigadier, who did not take kindly to
being told what to do by a stranger. ‘If I may repeat my
question, are you connected with this mine in some way?’
     ‘This is Professor Jones,’ said Dave, with a touch of pride.
‘He’s come to live in the village.’
     ‘Professor Jones?’ said the Doctor, beaming and extending
his hand. ‘I never realised. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a
long time. Your paper on DNA synthesis was quite remarkable
for your age.’
     Professor Jones took the Doctor’s remark as a slight rebuff
for his being so young. ‘You regard me as, shall we say, a
“promising youngster”?—not to be taken too seriously?’
     ‘No, no,’ said the Doctor. ‘I mean for the age you live in. I
haven’t seen anything like that paper of yours since a fellow I
met in Vladivostok in the year 2I79.’
     Professor Jones and Dave Griffiths stared at the Doctor.
‘The year 2179?’ said Professor Jones. ‘You mean 205 years in
the future?’ A smile played on the young professor’s lips. Clearly
he thought the Doctor was mad.
     ‘Well, maybe it was the year 2168. Anyway, it doesn’t really
matter. You’re a very remarkable young scientist, and it’s an
honour to meet you.’
     The Brigadier cleared his throat, loudly. ‘Doctor, the matter
at hand is the rescue of Miss Grant and the man she went with
down the mine.’
     Professor Jones said, ‘Why don’t we go back to Panorama
Chemicals and just take the equipment we need, by force if
necessary?’
     ‘Hold on,’ said the Brigadier. ‘I can’t start a war with
Panorama Chemicals! I’m supposed to be protecting them from
demonstrators and possible sabotage! In fact, Professor Jones, I
am supposed to be protecting them against you. Now, to be
practical, where’s the nearest town where we could hire this
stuff?’
     Dave said, ‘Newport, I imagine. But it’s quite a drive.’
     ‘Then I had better get started,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Exactly
where in Newport?’
     ‘There’s a company I know of hire out all sorts of tools and
equipment,’ said Dave. ‘What if I come with you? Might save
time.’
     ‘I should be most grateful,’ the Brigadier accepted. ‘Doctor,
we’ll be back as quickly as possible. I trust you will not involve
yourself in anything between now and then that might possibly
upset the status quo.’
     The Brigadier hurried out, followed by Dave Griffiths. A
moment later the Doctor heard the jeep start up and tear away
at high speed.
     ‘That army friend of yours,’ said Professor Jones. ‘He seems
to be a great believer in law and order.’
     ‘Aren’t we all?’ asked the Doctor. ‘At least, when there is law
and order to believe in.’ He picked up the cotter pin again and
looked at it thoughtfully. ‘Who would have done a criminal
thing like this?’
     ‘Certainly not one of the miners,’ said Professor Jones.
     ‘Exactly,’ said the Doctor. ‘Nor any of the other villagers
because they are all related to miners.’ He looked up and smiled
at the younger man. ‘People from the Wholeweal Community,
perhaps?’ It was more of a joke than a serious question. ‘So, who
else? And why?’ He scratched his chin. ‘You know, Panorama
Chemicals is beginning to interest me. Do you know the layout
there?’
     ‘Very well,’ said Professor Jones. ‘Are you thinking what I’m
thinking, Doctor?’
Hinks was sitting back in his own little room in the security
sector of the Panorama Chemicals building. There was nothing
much to do, so he had made himself a cup of tea and was now
reading one of his comics. He had a big collection of comics,
mainly American, most of them full of pictures that told stories.
He preferred pictures to words because he could not read very
fast, although he tried to keep this a secret. Hinks had looked
through the picture story many times before, but it always
fascinated him to go through it again. He was just about to turn
the page that carried the first picture of the torture sequence
when an alarm buzzer in his room started to bleep. Angrily he
put down the comic, picked up a phone.
     ‘What is it?’
     ‘Demonstrators,’ replied the voice of a security guard. ‘Lots
of them.’
     Hinks switched on the television monitor screen by his bed.
It immediately showed the view around the front gates.
Professor Clifford Jones and a crowd of young people from the
Wholeweal Community were parading up and down in the road,
banging drums, playing musical instruments, and shouting
slogans. He turned up the volume to hear what they were
shouting.
     ‘Save the valleys from Panorama Chemicals... PC stands for
pollution and corruption... Stevens must go—the further the
better.’
     Hinks snapped off the sound, picked up the phone again.
He barked orders into the mouthpiece. ‘All security units to the
front section. Under no circumstances must they be allowed to
break into the grounds.’
     Regretfully he put away his comic, got up to go and protect
the building. Still, the comic would be there when he got back.
And he hadn’t yet got to the pictures of people being beaten and
burned, so he had something to look foward to.
From his position high in a tree, the Doctor could just see the
noisy demonstration taking place at the front gates of Panorama
Chemicals. He waited until he saw security guards run to take
up their positions against the possibility of the demonstrators
trying to break in. Then, with great care, he crawled along the
one branch of the tree that had grown over the electrified fence
which surrounded the building. As he neared the end of the
branch it began to sag under his weight, almost touching the
fence below. The Doctor knew that if it did make contact, a
charge of electricity would course through the branch, and
through him, too, and that it was probably powerful enough to
kill. With the tree branch barely an inch from the fence, the
Doctor gave a final little jump—and landed on his feet inside the
compound. He released his hold on the branch a fraction of a
second before it came into contact with the fence. There was a
flash, and it withered and fell from the tree.
     The Doctor paused a moment to consult the map which
Professor Jones had sketched for him. Then he raced across
open ground towards the buildings.

From his office Dr Stevens looked down at the demonstrators.
He had hoped UNIT was going to stop all this nonsense. In his
mind he started to formulate a strong letter of protest to the
Government, complaining that Brigadier Lethbridge Stewart
seemed more involved in the colliery than in protecting
Panorama Chemicals. These idiots, Dr Stevens thought, banging
drums and shouting, might have good intentions, but they were
not realists. What the world wanted was more and more petrol
and diesel, for industry, areoplanes, and road vehicles. As for
pollution caused through the continued use of oil, that was the
price mankind had to pay. But in time, Dr Stevens believed,
even this problem could be solved. Professor Jones and his
followers lived in a world of make-believe. The clock of
technological progress could not be turned back.
     As he watched from his window he saw Hinks run out to
give orders to the security guards. Dr Stevens did not like Hinks.
He seemed to be a survival from an earlier brutish age, a very
violent sort of man. But, Dr Stevens reminded himself, the price
he paid to keep Panorama Chemicals secure from hot-heads like
Professor Jones was to employ thugs like Hinks. It saddened the
idealistic side of Dr Stevens’s thinking that nothing was for
nothing.
     His thoughts were interrupted by a ring on the internal
phone. He lifted it.
     ‘Yes?’
     ‘A stranger is in the grounds,’ said a guard’s voice. ‘He
appears to be consulting a map of the grounds, and is making
for the equipment sheds. Should we destroy him?’
     Dr Stevens immediately realised the trick. All the shouting
and drum banging at the front gates was a decoy. ‘No,’ he said
into the phone. ‘Catch him, then tell me where to find him.’
     He put down the phone. Was this anything to do with the
Brigadier’s request for cutting gear? If so, he had a surprise up
his sleeve.

The Doctor paused by the side of a building and looked at the
sketch map again. He was, he calculated, now quite close to the
equipment shed. Committing the route to memory he put the
map into his pocket and strode along the side of the building.
He knew he should shortly turn right and pass through a
narrow passageway that ran between two buildings.
    He turned the corner and saw the passageway. The
equipment sheds, according to the map, were at the far end.
From the distance he could hear the demonstrators shouting
and singing. Smiling to himself he set off down the passageway.
As he reached the middle a metal grille slammed across the way
ahead of him. He wheeled round. Another metal grille closed
behind him. He looked up to see if there was anywhere to climb.
The face of Hinks grinned down at him from a low roof.




           The grinning face of Hinks looked down at him

    ‘This is your friendly host,’ called Hinks. ‘We hope your stay
at Panorama will be long and uncomfortable.’ He guffawed
loudly. It was not often Hinks had the opportunity to make a
joke.

Jo and Bert paused in their trudge along the mine.
     ‘Do you really think you’re going to find this old shaft?’ she
asked.
     Bert wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘I don’t know. Let’s
take a breather.’
     They both sank down, sitting on the floor with their backs to
the wall.
     ‘Did you ever think of becoming anything else?’ Jo asked.
     ‘Than a miner?’ Bert gave a short laugh. ‘Oh yes, I thought
about becoming a film star, or winning the football pools. Every
man thinks about it, but not many actually do it.’
     ‘But it seems so dangerous,’ Jo said. ‘And such a terrible
place to work.’
     ‘Think we’re simple-minded, do you?’ There was a gentle
smile in his voice as he put the question.
     ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she answered. ‘But... well, why do
people become miners?’
     ‘You don’t get much choice,’ he said simply. ‘There’s some
people get born in Buckingham Palace, and they becomes kings
and queens, because that’s the family occupation. Us, we get
born in a place like Llanfairfach, where our fathers and uncles
all go down the pit. When you’re old enough you go down too,
to show the world you’re a man. Daft, isn’t it?’
     ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Someone has to get the coal.’
     ‘That’s true.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘There’s more to it
than that, miss. When you’re a miner you are part of one big
family, and that’s a wonderful feeling. Every man in the pits
knows his life depends on the other men. We live together, we
die together, and’—he grinned broadly—‘by goodness if the
people up top don’t treat us right, we go on strike together!’
     ‘It’s really like being a member of another nation,’ she said.
     Bert got to his feet. ‘That’s exactly how it is, miss. There’s us
down here, and there’s them up there.’ He stopped, and looked
back the way they had come. ‘And there’s poor Dai where we left
him, probably dead by now.’ He turned back to Jo. ‘Well, let’s
see if we can find our way out of here, is it?’
     Jo got up, and they continued to trudge down the long black
gallery of the mine.

‘Who are you?’
     Dr Stevens, flanked by Hinks and security guards, stared at
the Doctor through the metal grille. Some little distance away
Mark Elgin stood watching.
     ‘Most people call me the Doctor. And may I ask who you
are, sir?’
     ‘My name is Stevens—Dr Stevens. I am the Director of this
project.’
     ‘Delighted to meet you.’ The Doctor was about to put his
hand through the grille to shake hands with his captor, when he
realised it might be electrified. He withdrew quickly.
     ‘Now that you know who I am,’ continued Dr Stevens,
‘perhaps you would care to elaborate about yourself?’
     ‘I am attached to UNIT as a scientific adviser,’ said the
Doctor. ‘Does that clarify the situation?’
     Dr Stevens smiled. ‘Of course, the errant Doctor. We’ve
been hoping you’d arrive, although not quite like this. Do you
normally break into private property, especially when you’d be
more than welcome arriving at the front door?’
     ‘I do very little normally,’ said the Doctor, ‘unless that is the
quickest way to go about things. In this instance, an abnormal
approach seemed more fitting. We urgently need cable-cutting
equipment at the mine. You refused to give it. Yet my
information is that it is stored in that shed over there.’
     ‘May I ask where you got this information?’ said Dr Stevens.
     ‘From someone to whom you loaned the equipment only
recently,’ replied the Doctor.
     ‘Well,’ said Dr Stevens, ‘we certainly did have that kind of
equipment here. But not now. It’s all been re-turned to our
main stores in another part of the country. But to put your mind
at rest, let us investigate.’
     He pressed a button on the wall and the metal grille slid out
of the way. Without a word Dr Stevens, accompanied by Hinks,
crossed a concrete area to the equipment shed. Dr Stevens
nodded and Hinks produced a key and unlocked the doors. The
shed was completely empty.
     ‘You see?’ said Dr Stevens.
     ‘It seems I’ve been misinformed,’ said the Doctor.
     ‘Believe me, Doctor,’ said Dr Stevens, as he now walked the
Doctor away from the empty shed, ‘Panorama Chemicals always
tries to be a good neighbour. Our plant in Ethiopia has
distributed thousands of tons of grain to the starving. In Persia
and Saudi Arabia all local employees have free classes to learn to
read and write their own languages.’
     ‘Most impressive,’ said the Doctor politely, even though he
was being gently escorted off the premises.
     ‘If we had anything that could help the people of
Llanfairfach,’ Dr Stevens went on, ‘we’d be only too glad to give
it.’
     From where Mark Elgin stood he could hear Dr Stevens’s
voice fading away as he, the Doctor and Hinks went out of sight.
Elgin crossed to the now open equipment shed and looked
inside. He had passed this way only yesterday and had caught
sight of masses of equipment in the shed. Where had it all gone?
And why?
The Brigadier felt pleased with himself. Halfway to Newport he
and Dave Griffiths had passed through a small town with an
extraordinarily long Welsh name where the Brigadier had
spotted the words ‘Crash Repairs’ over a local garage. He
stopped the jeep immediately and called in to see the proprietor.
They used oxyacetylene equipment to cut away damaged parts
of cars. The owner of the garage, an ex-miner, was only too
pleased to lend the Brigadier everything that was needed.
     When the Brigadier got back to the pit head office he found
the Doctor and Professor Jones, and a number of ex-miners who
had turned up to help, had everything well organised. The
donkey engine was in position; a new cable now led from the
drum driven by the engine to the ‘up’ lift. All that remained was
for the old cable to be cut and the lift would work
independently.
     ‘You seem to have done well, Doctor,’ remarked the
Brigadier. ‘Are there some old overalls I can borrow from
someone?’
     ‘Why, tired of your uniform?’ asked the Doctor.
     ‘To go down the mine,’ said the Brigadier. ‘To rescue Miss
Grant and her companion.’
     ‘Mines are for miners,’ interrupted Dave Griffiths, ‘not for
soldier boys. It’s me and my mates will be going down there.’
     ‘The man in charge of a situation,’ said the Brigadier,
‘should always be willing to do the most risky job.’
     ‘Then that settles it,’ said Dave, ‘because where pit rescue is
concerned, I’m in charge.’
     The Brigadier went red in the face. ‘Look here—‘
     But Professor Jones cut in. He spoke calmly. ‘If I may
suggest, Brigadier, as a soldier your place is at the top here, to
see there is no more sabotage. Then Dave and his friends will
feel safe to go down.’
     ‘That does sound a very good idea,’ said the Doctor before
the Brigadier had a chance to answer. He turned to Dave. ‘I
admit that I’m not a miner, Mr Griffiths, but since a very dear
friend of mine is trapped down there, would you allow me to
accompany you and your col-leagues?’
     Dave thought about it for a moment. ‘All right, Doctor. But
understand it’s another world you’re going down into, our
world. So you do what we tell you.’
     From outside a miner called that the cable had been cut.
The lift was ready to be used. The Doctor was hurried over to
the locker room to get fitted out with overalls and a helmet.

Jo felt exhausted. ‘Can we rest a bit?’
     It wasn’t so much the distance that tired her but the foul air
and the fact that for the past twenty minutes they had been
walking bent over because the roof was low at this point.
     ‘I’m sorry, miss,’ said Bert, ‘but we should keep going. If my
reckoning is right, we’re near that old shaft now.’
     ‘Really, I must stop.’ She sagged down to her knees, her
head reeling.
     Bert looked at her sympathetically. ‘All right. Catch your
breath for the next five minutes.’ He sat down on the floor.
‘Anyway, you’ll need plenty of strength to go up that shaft if we
find it.’
     ‘Up?’
     ‘Of course. It climbs at about forty-five degrees and comes
out on the hillside.’ He switched off his helmet light. ‘Better turn
yours off too, miss,’ he said, ‘to save the battery.’
     Jo settled herself on the floor, reached up to her helmet,
found the switch and turned it. She expected they would now be
in total darkness. Instead, from further up the mine, there was
glow of light.
     ‘Look,’ she said excitedly, ‘the old shaft must be just up
there. There’s some light.’
     Bert was staring at the glimmer in the distance. It seemed to
be pulsating—and it was faintly green.
     ‘The shaft wouldn’t let in any light at all,’ he said. ‘It’s too
long. In any case, we must still be a distance from it.’
     ‘Then where’s that light coming from?’
     ‘I don’t know,’ said Bert. ‘Let’s go and see.’ He got to his
feet and went on down the mine.
     Jo scrambled up, feeling better after only a short rest, and
hurried after Bert. As they approached it the greenish light got
brighter. Jo detected a nauseating smell like rotten cabbages.
She caught up with Bert as he was about to turn a corner. But
there he stopped, staring.
     ‘I’ve never seen anything like it in my life,’ he said, not
moving now.
     A rivulet of brightly glowing green slime was pouring along
the mine floor. It came from some way further up the tunnel
and was disappearing down a crack in the foot of the wall, near
to where Bert and Jo stood looking on in astonishment.
     ‘Where could it be coming from?’ Jo realised the question
was stupid, that Bert couldn’t possibly know.
     ‘And what is it?’ Bert said. ‘I mean, why should it glow like
that?’ He went forward, put out a tentative finger and touched
the slime. Instantly he recoiled, staring at his finger. ‘It burns!
Like acid!’
     Jo was also staring at Bert’s finger. The green slime had
sunk into the flesh, and now the flesh itself was glowing green.

Dave Griffiths and two other miners, both experienced in rescue
work, stood round the Doctor as he inspected the body of Dai
Evans. The face and hands of the dead man were glowing bright
green.
      ‘That’s a horrible way to look when you’re dead,’ said one of
the miners.
      ‘Dead is dead,’ said the other.
      ‘The question is,’ said Dave, ‘why is he dead? Have you any
idea what causes this, Doctor?’
      The Doctor straightened up and shook his head. ‘Whatever
it is, it must be down there.’
      ‘Hey, look!’ One of the miners had noticed a piece of paper
under a stone near to the body. He picked it up and read it,
then passed it to Dave. ‘A message from Bert and the girl.
They’re trying to find that old shaft.’
      The Doctor glanced at the note over Dave’s shoulder.
      ‘That was a stupid thing to do,’ he said. ‘They should have
stayed here.’
      ‘I agree,’ said Dave, ‘but they didn’t so we’d better go and
find them.’ He turned to his colleagues. ‘You two take Dai’s body
up to the surface, then send the cage back down for us.’
      ‘Don’t touch his flesh,’ the Doctor cautioned. ‘This thing
may be contagious.’

Jo and Bert were now well beyond the green glowing rivulet of
slime, nearer to what they hoped was the way to the old shaft.
They had passed the immediate source of the rotten-smelling
liquid—a crack in the roof where it was pouring in from
somewhere above. Now it was Bert who seemed suddenly
exhausted. He sank to the floor.
     ‘I’m sorry, miss, but I can’t go on. Must be getting old.’
     ‘We may be nearly there,’ she said, encouragingly.
     ‘It’s no good, miss. Can’t go on. Too weak. Feel bad.’
     He was sweating badly, and put his hand to his face.
     The whole hand was now a brilliant glowing green. He
looked at his hand. ‘That means I’ve had it. Like poor Dai.’
     ‘Come on,’ Jo urged, ‘I’ll help you.’
     ‘You must go ahead on your own,’ he said, his body sagging.
‘Then you’ll escape, and you might get help for me. But you’ve
got to leave me here. Otherwise I’ll be a drag on you.’
     Jo knew what he said was logical, but she hated the thought
of leaving him alone. ‘I’ll get out of here as quickly as I can,’ she
promised, ‘and come back with rescuers.’
     ‘There’s a good girl,’ Bert said. ‘Tell the others never to
touch that stuff. You must warn the others... ‘ His head fell
forward.
     Jo didn’t know if he was already dead, but she realised there
was nothing she could do to help him. She hurried on ahead as
fast as possible.
     Bert was not dead, but he couldn’t move his limbs or even
his head, and he could hardly speak. He knew death was near,
and his mind drifted back to childhood days.
     His memory became increasingly muddled. After what
seemed a long time he heard distant voices calling to him, and
thought they might be his Uncle Dafydd and his father, both
long dead. Then the voices grew stronger, closer.
     ‘Bert, what happened?’
     It was the familiar voice of his old friend Dave Griffiths. Bert
tried to look up but could not move his head. ‘The young
woman,’ he mumbled. ‘The young woman.’
     The Doctor knelt close to Bert. ‘Where is she?’
     ‘Gone on,’ Bert said, as audibly as he could manage.
‘Looking for escape.’
     The Doctor stood up. ‘Get him back to the surface if you
possibly can,’ he told Dave. ‘Ask Professor Jones to have a look at
him. There may still be hope.’
     ‘Right,’ said Dave. ‘What about you?’
     ‘I’m going to look for Miss Grant. Tell the Brigadier that
when I find her I’ll bring her to the surface. But no one is to
come looking for us. It’s too dangerous.’
    The Doctor hurried off down the mine.

Jo turned a corner of the mine, stopped and stared in horror.
Before her lay a deep pool of the glowing green slime, and it was
teeming with giant maggots, some two feet long, writhing and
twisting across the surface.
     Nauseated by the sight and terrified, she let out a scream.
She was quivering with fear and revulsion.
     ‘Jo? Jo? Are you there?’ It was the Doctor’s voice, coming
closer.
     Jo turned round. Coming towards her was a helmet torch
bobbing up and down as the wearer ran along the tunnel.
     ‘Doctor?’ she called. The oncoming light blinded her and
she could not see who was approaching.
     ‘It’s me, Jo,’ the Doctor called.
     He came up beside her, and she fell into his arms. ‘Those
things,’ she sobbed. ‘Maggots! They look awful!’
     ‘Good grief!’ the Doctor exclaimed. ‘We must get out of
here.’
     ‘We can never get to the old shaft,’ said Jo, ‘not through that
pool of filth.’
     ‘We’re not going to try,’ said the Doctor. ‘I think I can
remember how I got here. We must go back.’
     The Doctor swung Jo round to re-trace their route. As they
turned to leave, rocks in the wall of the tunnel ahead started to
dislodge. Instinctively they both stood still. Now a large piece of
rock fell from the wall, pushed from behind by a thick river of
the green slimy liquid. In a moment the liquid had spilt across
the floor of the mine, cutting off their escape route. Then, from
the gap left by the dislodged rock, three maggots oozed out and
fell squirming on the floor. Jo recoiled from the sight of the
creatures.
     ‘What is it about those things?’ she screamed. ‘I can’t even
stand looking at them!’
     ‘Try to keep calm, Jo,’ said the Doctor. ‘A maggot is a
perfectly ordinary creature, even if these are two feet long. They
revolt you because they make you think of things that are rotten
and decaying.’
     ‘Do you think we could discuss my psychological reactions
some other time?’ she begged. ‘Let’s start talking about getting
out of here.’ Her knees were still trembling with fear.
     ‘Well,’ said the Doctor, ‘there’s that thing over there.’ The
Doctor pointed towards an upturned coal tub, its wheels
pointing towards the mine roof. ‘If we can get it back on to its
rails, we might stand a chance.’
     The Doctor crossed to the coal tub, looked about and saw a
wooden stave lying on the floor. ‘Now give me a hand,’ he called
to Jo. ‘This is going to take a lot of effort.’
     Using the stave as a lever, they pushed together to turn the
coal tub back on to its wheels. The Doctor got his hands under
one end of the coal tub and heaved, moving that end of the tub a
few inches nearer to the track.
     ‘Doctor,’ said Jo, who had just looked over her shoulder,
‘that stuff’s coming closer.’
     It was true. Where they saw the rock dislodged the green
slime was now pouring in. As Jo looked, two more maggots
oozed out of the hole in the mine wall and fell squirming and
writhing on the floor.
     ‘Try to think about something pleasant,’ said the Doctor as
he went to the other end of the heavy coal tub. ‘It’ll take your
mind off things.’ He got his hands under the end of the tub,
heaved, and brought that end within an inch of the track. ‘A
couple more goes and I—should have done it,’ he said, adding
‘without much help from you.’
     Jo suddenly realised she was panicking and not helping.
‘I’m sorry, Doctor. I’ll give you a hand.’
     ‘Two would be better,’ he said, ‘under here where I’ve got
mine.’
     Together they lifted an end of the tub, and this time settled
two of the four wheels on to the railway track. They ran round
to the other end of the tub, repeated the process and now had
all four wheels on the track.
     ‘Now,’ said the Doctor, ‘climb on board.’
     Jo saw that the railway track ran straight into the main pool
of green writhing slime. ‘We’re going to go through that?’
     ‘The track doesn’t go any other way,’ said the Doctor. He
got into the coal tub. ‘Are you going to join me?’ He held out his
hand to help her in. ‘Ever done any punting?’
     She climbed into the tub. ‘Punting?’
     ‘Watch me.’ The Doctor held the wooden stave over the side
of the tub and pushed it hard against the floor. The tub started
to move freely along its little track, straight into the pool of
slime.
     ‘I feel sick,’ said Jo.
     ‘Then pretend you’re at sea and lean over the side,’ said the
Doctor. ‘Now, here we go!’
     He drove the punt into the floor again and pushed with all
his weight. The truck went along through the pool of slime. The
maggots, sensing danger, turned towards the coal tub. Wide
toothless mouths opened, and they snapped at the wheels. The
Doctor pushed the stave into the slime, finding the floor again,
and gave another mighty heave. The coal tub was gathering
speed now, and soon was travelling fast through and out of the
pool of slime.
                 The maggots snapped at the wheels

     ‘We’re in the clear,’ the Doctor grinned. ‘Next stop Euston
Station.’
     The tunnel was now running very slightly downhill, and
with only an occasional prod with the stave the Doctor was able
to keep up quite a speed. After a quarter of a mile the tunnel
started to go uphill, slowing the coal tub. Then the little track
ended, and the tub ground to a stop. By now so far from the
green glow of the slime, they had both switched on their helmet
lights. Jo looked about herself, then pointed ahead.
     ‘Look, Doctor. That could be the old shaft.’
     An aperture in the mine wall some yards ahead opened onto
a smaller tunnel that went up at a steep angle.
     ‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ said the Doctor. ‘Here’s where we
start climbing.’
                            6
                     The Sluice Pipe
A little crowd of villagers watched as Bert Pritchard was carried
on a stretcher into the waiting ambulance. Once the doors of the
ambulance were closed, the Brigadier turned and went back into
the pit head office. Dave Griffiths was sitting there, head in
hands. With him was Professor Clifford Jones.
     ‘At least he’s still alive,’ said the Brigadier.
     ‘But if Bert dies,’ said Dave, ‘I don’t know how I’ll face
myself.’
     ‘It was their decision to go down the mine,’ said Professor
Jones. ‘You can’t count it as your fault. You did a marvellous job
to carry him out.’
     ‘You did indeed,’ agreed the Brigadier. He turned to the
professor. ‘Have you any idea why his flesh turned green?’
     ‘Not specifically,’ said the professor. ‘If I did we might know
how to treat it. But there’s one thing that’s obvious to me. It’s
got something to do with Panorama Chemicals.’
     ‘Come now,’ said the Brigadier, ‘you have no proof!’
     ‘Did you know,’ said the professor, ‘there is no proof that
smoking cigarettes can cause lung cancer?’
     ‘Whatever are you talking about? There’s a direct
relationship between cigarette smoking and the incidence of
lung cancer. I encourage all my men not to smoke.’
     ‘Exactly,’ said the professor, ‘a direct relationship. But
nothing you can prove in a laboratory. It’s the same with the
green death and Panorama Chemicals. We know that no one in
Llanfairfach, or anywhere else, went green and died before
Panorama Chemicals arrived.’
     What the professor said made sense, but the Brigadier
doubted he could make the case to higher authorities. ‘Anyway,
we haven’t time to talk now. I must get down that mine to save
the Doctor and Miss Grant.’
     Dave Griffiths looked up. ‘That’s exactly what the Doctor
said you shouldn’t do. Too dangerous, he said.’
     ‘I think I should be best judge of that,’ said the Brigadier,
moving to the door.
     ‘On what is your judgement based?’ asked Professor Jones.
     The Brigadier paused. ‘What do you mean?’
     ‘How can you be the best judge of the situation down there
when you haven’t been in the mine?’
     ‘Good grief, man, you don’t think going down a coal mine is
going to frighten me!’
     ‘I am sure that you’re an exceptionally brave soldier,’ said
the professor. ‘But the Doctor sent an order that no one should
go down into the mine after him. Now why don’t you do what
you’re told and stay up here on the surface? Show a bit of
obedience and discipline, man!’
     The Brigadier gave thought to that. It certainly made a lot
of sense. The Doctor had been in many tight scrapes before, and
had managed to save himself usually un-aided. Above all, if the
Brigadier went down into the mine he had no idea where to
start searching. ‘Perhaps you have a point,’ he agreed. ‘But in all
conscience, I can’t stand around and do nothing.’
     ‘There is something you can do,’ said Professor Jones. ‘Go
and ask Panorama Chemicals what they’re really up to.’
     ‘Yes,’ said the Brigadier, warming to that idea, ‘I suppose I
could. In fact I think I shall.’ He opened the door, then stopped.
‘What exactly do we want to find out?’
     ‘Anything,’ said the professor. ‘In particular what are they
doing to this mine, and why do people turn green and die.’
    ‘Right you are,’ said the Brigadier. ‘A bit of general
snooping, eh?’
    ‘Intelligence work,’ said the professor, choosing a military
term that he hoped would enthuse the Brigadier.
    ‘No sooner said than done.’ The Brigadier walked smartly
out of the office.
    When he had gone Dave looked up at the young professor
and smiled. ‘Must be nice spending your life playing toy
soldiers,’ he said, speaking in Welsh to show that he now
accepted Professor Jones as one of the villagers.

Mark Elgin sat at his beautiful highly-polished desk in his
beautiful air-conditioned office at Panorama Chemicals and tried
to write a press release. As the plant’s PRO (public relations
officer) he sent out regular releases to newspapers and to the
television and radio news services.
     Usually Elgin enjoyed writing press releases. But today he
found it difficult to concentrate. He felt there was a lot that was
kept secret from him at Panorama Chemicals. No one had ever
explained exactly what research was being undertaken. Then
came the first green death, followed by Dr Stevens’s strange
refusal to lend cutting equipment, followed now by another
incident in which a miner had turned green. He very much
wanted to know what was really going on, and concluded that his
best course was to have a direct confrontation with Dr Bell.
     He put down his pen, got up and went into the corridor to
go to Dr Bell’s workplace. At that moment Dr Bell was coming
along the corridor.
     ‘I say,’ said Elgin, ‘have you heard? There’s another green
man been brought up from the mine.’
     Bell seemed little interested. ‘Yes, I heard.’
     ‘Is that all you can say, Arnold? Do you feel no responsibility
at all?’
      Dr Bell looked surprised. ‘Why should I?’
      ‘You said there was no cutting equipment here,’ Elgin
persisted. ‘Why did you lie? I’m sure you know something about
what’s going on in that mine.’
      Dr Bell backed away from him. ‘No. I know nothing.’
      ‘Has something happened to you? You used to be a jolly,
cheerful fellow, always ready for a chat—‘
      ‘I know nothing,’ cut in Dr Bell, ‘nothing at all.’
      ‘For heaven’s sake, man, tell me the truth. Others might die
if you don’t!’
      For a moment Dr Bell’s face contorted as though he was
trying to suppress something deep in his mind. Then his face
resumed its former impassivity. ‘You are mistaken.’ He walked
away jerkily, pushed open a door marked ‘AUTHORISED
PERSONNEL ONLY’ and went inside.
      Elgin followed the man into the room. It was one of the
subsidiary laboratories, full of controls and wall dials. Dr Bell
picked up a clipboard and started to read some of the dials. He
pulled a lever set in a console, and there was a roaring sound.
Watching from the door Elgin saw two of the large dials begin to
operate, one showing that a tank somewhere was emptying, and
the other showing that a tank was filling. Dr Bell turned to
another dial, and caught sight of Elgin at the door.
      ‘This room is for authorised personnel only,’ he said.
      ‘I know,’ said Elgin. ‘It’s up on the door. But I’m as
authorised as you are.’
      ‘Not for here.’
      ‘Why?’ asked Elgin. ‘What’s so special about this room?’
      ‘Nothing.’ Dr Bell continued quietly with his work. ‘There
isn’t anything to see in here. Why don’t you go away?’
      Elgin ignored the dismissal. ‘You’re venting one tank and
filling another, aren’t you?’
      Dr Bell nodded. ‘For cleaning purposes.’
     Elgin went further into the room and inspected the dials. ‘I
presume that one’—he indicated a large dial—‘refers to the main
waste tank on level four.’ He looked at another dial. ‘Where is
this one, the one you’re filling?’
     ‘Close to it.’
     ‘The next big one?’ Elgin queried. ‘On level three?’ ‘Yes.’
     ‘But that’s a heavy duty pump working,’ said Elgin,
surprised. ‘You shouldn’t need anything more than gravity
feed.’
     Dr Bell hesitated. ‘I... I made a mistake. It’s a tank on a
higher level.’
     Elgin thought about this. ‘There isn’t one on a higher level.
Or do you mean the new special tank on the west storage bay?’
     ‘Excuse me,’ said Dr Bell, who now seemed agitated. ‘I can’t
answer any more questions. I am very busy.’
     ‘Hold on a minute,’ said Elgin. ‘We can all be “very busy”.
I’m beginning to realise what’s happening. Directly under us is
the old West seam of the coal mine. So all you do is pump the
waste over to this tank, open the sluice and let it flow into the
mine workings.’ He pointed to a transparent port-hole in the
wall. ‘What’s that? The pipe itself? Some sort of inspection
chamber?’
     Dr Bell turned away and busied himself with checking dials
against the figures on his clipboard.
     ‘You knew all along,’ said Elgin. ‘There is a connection
between the green death and our oil waste, isn’t there?’
     Dr Bell was staring at a row of small dials but his eyes were
not focussing. His face contorted again. ‘Danger. Death.’ He had
difficulty forming the words.
     Elgin came close and looked into Dr Bell’s face. ‘What’s up
with you? Have you been drinking or taking drugs?’
     ‘Danger, death,’ Dr Bell repeated, as though he had not
heard Elgin.
     Elgin took Dr Bell by the shoulders and shook him gently.
‘You seem to be in a trance! Wake up, man! Tell me what this is
all about.’
     The scientific officer blinked, and sighed deeply. ‘You ask
too many questions. Don’t you earn enough money? Isn’t your
office big enough?’
     ‘This is the best job I’ve ever had,’ said Elgin, truthfully, ‘but
we aren’t talking about that. A moment ago you said the words
“danger” and “death”. What were you talking about?’
     ‘I said no such words,’ said Dr Bell, and seemed to believe it.
‘Now you must let me get on. I need to complete the transfer.’
     ‘And then what?’ asked Elgin. ‘More waste straight down
into the mine?’
     ‘The waste has to go somewhere.’
     ‘But I understand there are two people trapped down
there,’ Elgin exclaimed. ‘You might kill them!’
     ‘In that eventuality,’ said Dr Bell, ‘I suggest that you sit at
your desk and write a press release to explain it was an accident.
That, remember, is your job here. And don’t forget, it’s a very
well paid job you have.’

The Doctor and Jo continued their long hard climb up the old
mine shaft.
     ‘Why was it dug at this angle?’ asked Jo, gasping for breath.
     ‘I think this tunnel is a geological fault,’ said the Doctor. ‘We
think of the earth beneath our feet as being packed tight, but it
isn’t really. Apart from mines there are caves, even rivers
running underground. I don’t think this was man-made.’
     ‘Human-made, if you don’t mind,’ corrected Jo.
     ‘What?’ The Doctor had gone on ahead and now turned
back.
     ‘People say “man-made” as though men are the only people
who ever make anything. There are also women, and I’m one of
them.’ She paused. ‘A very tired one at the moment.’
     ‘It flattens out up here,’ the Doctor called. ‘We can take a
rest.’
     Jo struggled up another few yards, and found the Doctor
standing in a cave with a flat floor. She sat down immediately,
exhausted. ‘At least there are none of those awful things here!’
She looked round, her helmet light playing over the walls of the
cave. She stopped when her light shone on a small ledge.
Nestled into the ledge were four large eggs, the size of rugby
footballs. ‘What are those?’
     The Doctor crossed to the ledge and looked keenly at the
four objects on the ledge. ‘Some sort of eggs, I imagine.’
     ‘Eggs from what?’ said Jo.
     ‘I don’t know what they’re from,’ said the Doctor, ‘but I can
guess what they hatch out into. Our little friends from down
below.’
     ‘How horrible. You mean those things are alive?’
     ‘That’s an interesting point,’ said the Doctor. ‘Is an egg a
living thing, or inert?’
     ‘It’s not something I want to discuss,’ said Jo. ‘Not if it’s got
anything to do with those maggots.’
     ‘You know, Jo, your attitude is becoming increasingly non-
scientific. Just because those things reminded you of creatures
you’ve seen crawl out of rotten meat doesn’t mean they are not
zoologically very, very interesting.’ He pulled from his capacious
pockets a pair of rubber gloves, put them on, and then produced
a large plastic bag. Jo had got used to the Doctor’s way of
carrying a great variety of equipment in his enormous pockets.
‘Mind holding this bag open for me, please?’
     ‘What are going to do?’
     ‘Take one of these eggs and see what happens.’
     ‘You want to raise a maggot as a pet?’
     ‘You never know,’ said the Doctor, ‘they may be quite
friendly little fellows. Perhaps we’ve only seen the worst side of
them. Can you hold this bag open for me?’
     Reluctantly Jo got to her feet, took the bag and held it wide
open. The Doctor carefully picked up one of the eggs and placed
it in the bag, making sure that it did not touch Jo’s fingers.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking the bag and stuffing in into his
pocket. He drew off the rubber gloves and put them away. ‘Shall
we continue?’
     ‘I’ve hardly had time to catch my breath, Doctor.’
     ‘But if you look over there,’ said the Doctor, angling his
helmet light to play on the far end of the cave, ‘I think you’ll feel
more encouraged.’
     Jo looked. The end of a large metal pipe, sloped at an angle
of sixty degrees, came through the roof of the cave. The pipe
was wide enough for a human, and there were ladder rungs
inside.
     ‘Where do you think that comes from?’ she asked.
     ‘My guess is it’s something to do with Panorama Chemicals,’
said the Doctor. ‘I can’t think why the National Coal Board
should drill a pipe into a coal mine.’
     They walked over to the pipe.
     ‘I can’t think why anyone would put this pipe here,’ said Jo.
She sniffed. ‘What’s the smell?’
     ‘Crude oil waste,’ said the Doctor. ‘So, shall we see where it
takes us?’
     Jo nodded. There seemed no other way of escape, and
anyway she was frightened in case those eggs started to hatch
out. The Doctor stood back to let her go first up the rungs inside
the pipe. After she had climbed a few feet she looked down to
make sure he was following.
     ‘There’s no light at the top,’ she called.
     ‘It probably leads into some tank,’ said the Doctor. ‘At least
we’ll be on the surface, even if we have to bang on the walls of
the tank to bring attention to ourselves.’
     As Jo gripped the next rung, she felt a vibration through her
hand. It increased, and the whole pipe was gently vibrating.
‘What’s that?’ she called down. ‘Can you feel it?’
     ‘I’ve no idea what it is, Jo,’ called the Doctor, ‘but I think it
probably means we haven’t got much time. I suggest you hurry,
if you want to save our lives.’

‘How do you like the coffee?’ Dr Stevens smiled across his vast
desk.
     ‘Very good,’ said the Brigadier, putting his cup back on its
saucer. ‘Best I’ve had since I arrived.’
     ‘A petroleum by-product,’ said Dr Stevens. ‘Panorama’s
answer to the grasping demands of South American coffee bean
producers. It’s only experimental at the moment.’
     ‘Really?’ The Brigadier regarded his empty cup and hoped
he hadn’t just been accidentally poisoned. ‘Well, Dr Stevens, it’s
experiments that I’ve come to talk about. This green death is a
bit worrying.’
     ‘Most alarming,’ agreed Dr Stevens. ‘I still find it difficult to
believe—people turning green.’
     ‘I intend to request a full international investigation.’ the
Brigadier went on, ‘under the auspices of the United Nations.’
He watched for Dr Stevens’s reactions.
     ‘All that over the deaths of two men in a little Welsh village?’
Dr Stevens smiled again. ‘Isn’t it a matter for the local coroner?’
     ‘That’s what we want to find out.’
     ‘I sec.’ For a moment Dr Stevens said nothing. ‘May I ask
why you’ve come here to tell me this, Brigadier?’
     ‘There were no such deaths before Panorama Chemicals
came to the village,’ replied the Brigadier, choosing his words
carefully.
     ‘Are you suggesting some connection?’
     ‘The two facts seem to me significant,’ said the Brigadier.
     If the Brigadier expected Dr Stevens to deny any connection
he was disappointed. The Director of Panorama Chemicals
showed no reaction at all. ‘Brigadier, I submit you are taking a
grave risk in even hinting that we may be responsible for these
deaths.’
     ‘In what way?’
     Dr Stevens arched his fingers, as though about to deliver a
lecture. ‘There are emotional, sentimental fools who would
delight in seeing this plant closed down. I refer to Professor
Clifford Jones and his following of hot-heads. But under no
circumstances should our work be prevented from continuing.’
     ‘Surely,’ said the Brigadier, ‘if there’s any question of
danger—’
     ‘Which there isn’t!’ Dr Stevens cut in sharply, for the first
time showing any emotion.
     ‘Dr Stevens,’ the Brigadier retorted, ‘if I see any reason for
this plant to be closed, temporarily or permanently, closed it will
be!’
     ‘And in that respect you would be taking a great risk.’
     For the second time Dr Stevens had used this word ‘risk’.
The Brigadier still wasn’t sure quite what he meant. ‘Risk? To
whom?’
     ‘Possibly to your career,’ said Dr Stevens.
     ‘Are you threatening me?’
     ‘Just a little,’ Dr Stevens replied honestly.
     ‘I submit to you, Dr Stevens,’ said the Brigadier, realising he
was getting heated, ‘that if necessary I can bring influence to
bear at Cabinet level.’
     ‘How interesting,’ said Dr Stevens in a way to show that he
was not at all impressed. He reached over to his desk inter-com
and pressed a button. ‘Stella,’ he said towards the built-in
microphone, ‘get me the Minister of Ecology, please.’
     ‘Yes, sir,’ said the girl’s voice.
     ‘Like some more coffee?’ asked Dr Stevens affably.
     ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said the Brigadier, ‘but no thank
you.’
     ‘You don’t mind if I do?’ said Dr Stevens, as he re-filled his
cup from the coffee pot. ‘We don’t pretend this stuff has any
nutritional value, but it certainly tastes like coffee.’
     ‘If I may ask, Dr Stevens, what is your purpose in
telephoning the Minister of Ecology?’
     ‘For your sake,’ said Dr Stevens. ‘You tell me that you can
bring influence to bear at Cabinet level. I, on my part, would
rather like to see you do it.’
     ‘Are you trying to goad me, sir?’
     ‘Brigadier, my only concern is facts. If you can get the
Minister of Ecology to permit you to conduct an investigation
that may do some harm to Panorama Chemicals, that is a fact of
life which I must face. On the other hand if you cannot, then I
shall be pleased if you will apply yourself to your task of
protecting this plant from those hot-heads shouting at our front
gates.’ Dr Stevens gave his little smile again. ‘I assure you, there
will be no hard feelings either way.’
     ‘In fairness,’ said the Brigadier, ‘I didn’t say an investigation
would necessarily be directed against Panorama Chemicals—’
     A phone rang on the vast desk, interrupting what the
Brigadier was saying. Dr Stevens lifted the phone.
     ‘Stevens here.’ He listened, then frowned. ‘My dear young
lady,’ Dr Stevens told the caller, ‘I think you have
misunderstood. I wish to speak to the Minister personally.’ He
cupped the mouthpiece, smiled to the Brigadier. ‘This is only his
secretary. Apparently he’s in a Cabinet meeting at the moment.’
Someone was speaking to him again on the phone and he
listened intently. ‘Ah, that you, Minister? Listen, I’ve got an
officer from UNIT here. He wants to speak to you.’ Dr Stevens
handed the telephone across the desk to the Brigadier. ‘He’s all
yours, Brigadier.’
      The Brigadier had no wish to speak to the Minister of
Ecology at this moment, but now he had no choice. He’ took the
telephone from Dr Stevens. ‘Good day, sir,’ he said. ‘This is
Brigadier Lethbridge Stewart of UNIT speaking. I’m here at
Llanfairfach, in Wales, to investigate certain mysterious deaths
emanating from a disused mine. The unfortunate men who died
first turned bright green. It seems to me that an inquiry is called
for.’
      The Minister did not sound pleased. ‘Is that why you’ve
phoned me in the middle of an important Cabinet meeting?’
      ‘I did not instigate the call,’ said the Brigadier. ‘It was made
to you by the Director of Panorama Chemicals, in whose office I
am now sitting.’
      ‘I don’t give a damn where you’re sitting,’ said the Minister.
‘Why do you want to tell me about an investigation into some
deaths? That’s a matter for the police, or the local coroner. Have
you gone out of your mind?’
      The Brigadier was now acutely embarrassed, since he
realised that to the Minister he must sound like an idiot.
However, he had to press on now that he’d been forced into
speaking to the Minister. ‘There is, sir, the possibility that
Panorama Chemicals may in some way be connected with these
extraordinary occurrences.’
      This time the Minister’s tone was quite different. ‘You say
Panorama Chemicals could be involved?’
      ‘It is possible, sir,’ said the Brigadier.
     ‘Hold on.’ The line went dead, because the Minister was
cupping the mouthpiece of his phone while speaking to someone
else. Then the Minister’s voice came back. ‘I have just had a
word with the Prime Minister, Brigadier. I strongly suggest that
you put yourself and UNIT at the disposal of the Director of
Panorama Chemicals. He is in far the best position to know what
to do.’
     The Brigadier felt humiliated, and had difficulty controlling
his temper. ‘May I remind you, sir, that I answer to UNIT
Supreme Headquarters in Geneva, Switzerland.’
     He realised that Dr Stevens was watching him closely and
possibly gloating. ‘This may be a matter for world concern, for
all I know—’
     The Minister cut in again: ‘Then let me put it to you
another way, Brigadier. I have just consulted with the Prime
Minister who is by my side. This country cannot afford to have
an argument, or even the hint of a dispute, with Panorama or
with any other multi-national corn-pan’ that’s good enough to
have its plants here. If you annoy Panorama—or come to that,
phone me again when we’re having a Cabinet meeting—I shall
personally apply to UNIT Supreme Headquarters in Geneva for
you to be posted to some other part of the world. Good day.’
The line went dead.
     The Brigadier put the phone back on its stand, and looked
across the desk at Dr Stevens. ‘It seems you have very powerful
friends.’
     Dr Stevens smiled. ‘I hope he didn’t give you too rough a
time, but I did warn you.’ He got up and went across to a built-
in wall cabinet and touched a heat button. The front of the
cabinet slid open to reveal an array of bottles and glasses. ‘Care
for some sherry? I’ve got something here made from re-
processed whale glue.’
     The Brigadier rose to go. ‘Not for me, sir, thank you.’
     Dr Stevens turned and looked at the Brigadier. ‘You know,
Brigadier, we’re not murderers. I’m as eager as you to prevent
any further accidents. But I really don’t think they’ve got
anything to do with my company.’
     ‘We never shall know unless there’s a full enquiry,’ said the
Brigadier.
     Dr Stevens did not answer that directly. ‘Couldn’t you and I
cooperate? I could place an office at your disposal, and give you
a secretary.’
     ‘And then I would have to take orders from you,’ said the
Brigadier, ‘just as I gather the Minister takes orders?’
     ‘That’s a hard thing to say, Brigadier.’
     ‘I recall a time, Dr Stevens, when Great Britain could regard
itself as a sovereign state, answering to no one but its elected
Parliament and its monarch,’ the Brigadier said. ‘Now, it seems,
we can be told what to do by international business companies.’
     ‘Sad, isn’t it?’ said Dr Stevens. ‘Sure you won’t have some
sherry? Or there’s some very good Scotch whisky here made
from re-cycled wood pulp.’
     ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ said the Brigadier, ‘I think I’ll go and
find out if there’s any news of the Doctor.’
     ‘Certainly,’ said Dr Stevens, opening the door. ‘I’m pleased
that we’ve been able to talk so openly and frankly.’
     The Brigadier went off down the corridor, and Dr Stevens
closed the door. He looked up towards the ceiling. ‘Well?’
     The voice of Boss spoke from above. ‘Excellent hand-ling of
a delicate situation. Imitation of Minister’s voice on telephone
first class. Congratulations.’
                              7
                           The Egg
When the Brigadier walked away down the corridor from Dr
Stevens’s office he passed by the door of the laboratory where
Mark Elgin was still arguing with Dr Arnold Bell.
     ‘I don’t know what’s happened to you, Arnold,’ said Elgin,
‘but you’ve got to fight it.’
     ‘You have no right to be in here,’ repeated Dr Bell. ‘It is for
authorised personnel only.’
     ‘Heaven’s, man,’ said Elgin, ‘we’ve been through all that.
Have you been hypnotised or something?’
     Dr Bell turned to Elgin. ‘Can’t you see that I am trying to
get on with my work?’
     ‘What I can see,’ Elgin replied, ‘is a nice fellow I used to
know behaving like someone else.’
     There was a sudden harsh buzzing from one of the panels.
Red lights flashed on and off, and from a loudspeaker a
mechanical voice boomed into the room: ‘Intruders in waste
pipe. Intruders in waste pipe.’
     ‘What the devil’s that?’ asked Elgin.
     Dr Bell pressed one of a line of buttons on a console. A small
television monitor screen came to life, showing a picture of the
Doctor and Jo desperately climbing up the rungs inside the
great pipe. Dr Bell glanced at the screen, but did not seem to
react to what he saw. He went to a microphone and spoke into it
:
     ‘Tank voiding operation completed,’ he told the
microphone. ‘Waste disposal under way.’
     He pulled a lever, and Elgin heard a liquid rushing sound
from somewhere that he couldn’t yet locate. ‘Are you putting
waste into that pipe?’ he demanded of Dr Bell. ‘You’ll kill those
people.’
     ‘They are intruders,’ said Dr Bell.
     ‘Turn off the waste,’ ordered Elgin.
     ‘Not possible,’ said Dr Bell. ‘The operation is automatic.
Fifteen seconds to go.’
     ‘Show some sense,’ Elgin implored. ‘You’re about to commit
double murder!’
     ‘They are intruders,’ Dr Bell repeated, as though that was a
good reason to kill them. ‘Only authorised personnel are
allowed inside the pipe.’
     Elgin shouted at him. ‘You must stop the waste going down
that pipe! Do you understand?’ He grabbed Dr Bell by the
shoulders and shook him fiercely. ‘Do you understand anything?’
     Dr Bell’s face screwed up, all the muscles tightening as in his
mind a battle raged between what he knew was right and his
new loyalty to Boss.
     ‘Too late,’ he said. ‘Not possible.’
     Elgin looked round the room desperately, noticed the
transparent port-hole in the wall. It had hinges down one side so
he realised it must open. He rushed over to the port-hole and
ran his fingers round the edge of the frame, trying to open it. It
would not budge. ‘How does this thing open?’
     Dr Bell was now standing in the middle of the room, staring
vacantly into space. ‘Unauthorised personnel,’ he said
mechanically. ‘Not in the interests of the Company.’
     ‘You’ve got to tell me,’ Elgin pleaded. ‘How does this thing
open?’
     As Elgin spoke, the Doctor and Jo climbed up inside the
pipe and started to hammer on the glass.
     Dr Bell spoke in short agonised gasps. ‘Murder... save lives...
no unauthorised personnel... Thou shalt not kill... exterminate...
Jesus saves... final solution...’
     Elgin looked at the dial activated when Dr Bell pulled the
waste lever. Its finger was nearing the word ‘zero’.
     ‘Look at those two people,’ he screamed at Dr Bell. ‘In a few
seconds you are going to see them die—see them with your own
eyes. In the name of humanity, tell me how I can open this port-
hole?’
     Dr Bell swayed, the terrible internal battle of con-science
boiling in his mind. He licked his parched lips, then with
enormous effort pointed to a console. ‘Yellow button. Left side.’
Then he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
     Elgin rushed to the console and jammed his thumb down on
to the yellow button. A moment’s pause, then the frame of the
port-hole opened. The Doctor and Jo scrambled into the room.
The Doctor swung round and slammed shut the port-hole
behind him. Almost instantly the rushing noise increased and
sludge and slime started to cascade past the port-hole. It
increased in volume until the pipe was filled with downward
rushing liquid.
     Jo sank on to the floor, exhausted from the long climb. The
Doctor looked across to Mark Elgin.
     ‘Thanks.’ The Doctor stared down at the prostrate form of
Dr Bell. ‘My goodness, what’s the matter with him?’ He went to
kneel down beside the man, checked the pulse.
     ‘I don’t think it’s physical,’ said Elgin, joining the Doctor.
‘We were having an argument—actually it was about whether or
not to save your lives.’
     ‘Charming,’ said the Doctor, ‘which side were you on?’
     Elgin grinned. ‘You’re alive, aren’t you?’
     The Doctor lifted Dr Bell’s eyelids, felt his heart. ‘Poor
fellow seems to have fainted. Let’s sit him up somewhere.’
     Together the Doctor and Elgin dragged Dr Bell across to
the wall, sat him up against it.
      ‘He was mumbling all sorts of nonsense before he passed
out,’ Elgin volunteered. ‘I couldn’t make head nor tail of it.’
      ‘Can you remember anything he said?’
      ‘He said “murder”, then “save lives”, and I think he said
“Thou shalt not kill” and “exterminate”.’
      The Doctor looked down at the still unconscious Dr Bell.
‘Sounds like some terrible internal conflict in his mind.’
      ‘What about your young friend?’ Elgin asked.
      ‘Good grief,’ said the Doctor, turning back to where Jo was
still slumped on the floor gasping. ‘I’d almost forgotten her.
How do you feel now, Jo?’
      ‘That horrible-looking stuff’—she pointed to the sludge and
slime on the other side of the port-hole—‘that’s what makes the
maggots.’
      ‘Maggots?’ Elgin was mystified.
      The Doctor quickly explained what he and Jo had seen in
the mine. ‘In some way those creatures must be linked to the oil
waste that your Company is pouring into the mine,’ he
concluded.
      ‘It’s unbelievable,’ Elgin said. ‘I wonder if Dr Bell knew
this?’ Elgin turned back to Dr Bell. ‘Let’s see if he’s come
round... ‘ The sentence trailed off. Dr Bell had vanished. ‘He’s
got up and gone!’
      The Doctor rubbed his chin. ‘The only reason he would
slink away when our backs were turned is because he’s gone to
tell someone about us being here.’
      ‘I told you how strangely he was behaving,’ said Elgin.
      ‘Is there some quiet way you can get us out of here?’
      ‘There’s a back lift that goes straight down to the car park.’
      ‘Then I wonder,’ said the Doctor, ‘if you’d be good enough
to lead us to it, and as quickly as possible.’
The door of the Director’s office burst open and Dr Bell
staggered in, wild eyed. Dr Stevens looked up from his desk. He
liked people to knock on the door before entering.
     ‘What is it, Dr Bell?’ His voice was stem.
     ‘I have... a... headache.’ Dr Bell had difficulty saying the
words.
     Dr Stevens got up from his chair immediately and hurried
round the desk to Dr Bell’s side. All the sternness had gone out
of his voice now. ‘Of course you have,’ he said soothingly. He
knew from personal experience exactly what kind of headache
Dr Bell must be enduring. ‘You’ve been working too hard, old
friend. Sit down.’
     Gently Dr Stevens helped the sick man to a comfortable
chair. ‘Remember how I helped you before when you had a
headache? I’ll always help you.’
     ‘God is love,’ mumbled Dr Bell. ‘Today Europe, tomorrow
the world.’
     ‘You’re just a bit confused,’ Dr Stevens said as he hurried to
the cupboard in his desk and took out the special pair of
earphones. ‘But very soon your headache will go away and
everything will be fine. Shall we put them on?’ He stood over Dr
Bell with the earphones.
     ‘Every time I hear the word “culture” I reach for my gun,’
Dr Bell babbled. ‘The meek shall inherit the Earth.’
     ‘Panorama Chemicals will inherit the Earth,’ said Dr
Stevens, ‘as you will soon agree. Let me help you.’
     Dr Bell sat quite still while the Director placed the
earphones in position. ‘There,’ said Dr Stevens, ‘we’re all set.’
He hurried back to his desk and plugged the lead from the
earphones into the special socket in his intercom. Instantly Dr
Bell started to writhe, agony showing on his face. Dr Stevens felt
sorry for him, but knew the process was necessary. After a full
minute Dr Stevens pulled the earphone lead from the socket. Dr
Bell slumped in his chair, his face at peace. Dr Stevens went back
to him.
      ‘How do you feel now?’ Dr Stevens spoke loudly so that Dr
Bell would hear through the earphones.
      ‘You’ve done something to my mind,’ said Dr Bell, his voice
now quite normal.
      ‘I’ve tried to help you to see things more clearly. Are you
still confused?’
      ‘No,’ said Dr Bell. ‘I know that what we’re doing is wrong.’
      The harsh voice of Boss suddenly spoke from above. ‘The
processing was a failure. This man is of no further use. I suggest
self-destruct.’
      Dr Bell seemed too weak and dazed to hear the voice, but
Dr Stevens looked up instantly. ‘Surely that isn’t necessary?’ he
said to the ceiling.
      ‘You are a sentimentalist,’ said the voice of Boss. ‘I repeat:
self-destruct.’
      Dr Stevens looked down at Dr Bell. He felt sorry for the
man. But he knew what he must do. He crossed back to his desk
and pressed a red button on his inter-com control panel. Dr Bell
stiffened, and for a moment his hands went up to touch the
earphones. But then they dropped to his sides. There was no
expression on his face, and his eyes stared ahead vacantly. Dr
Stevens took his finger from the red button, went back across the
office and gently removed the earphones.
      ‘Goodbye, Dr Bell,’ he said. ‘You are useless and have no
further right to exist.’
      Like an automaton Dr Bell stood up from the chair. ‘I am
useless, and have no further right to exist.’
      ‘Then you know what you must do,’ said Dr Stevens,
opening the door to the corridor.
      ‘I know what I must do,’ echoed Dr Bell, and walked away
stiffly.
Elgin led the way down the corridor, taking a route that would
avoid offices he knew to be occupied.
     ‘Why are you helping us like this?’ asked the Doctor.
‘Because,’ said Elgin, ‘I suspect that this Company is somehow
doing wrong.’
     ‘I thought you were supposed to be the public relations
officer,’ said Jo. ‘You’re meant to say that everything the
Company does is right.’
     ‘May we discuss that some other time, Miss Grant?’ Elgin
hurried on ahead to look round the corner of an intersection.
He paused there, staring at something. The Doctor hurried up
to him.
     What is it?’
     ‘Dr Bell—look at him.’
     The three of them peeped round the corner and saw Dr Bell
walking stiffly towards them.
     ‘He’s in a trance,’ Jo said.
     As Dr Bell came close the Doctor stepped out from their
hiding place. ‘I say, old man, are you feeling all right?’
     Dr Bell walked on as though he heard or saw nothing. He
was making his way straight down a corridor towards a big plate
glass window.
     ‘Arnold,’ Elgin called, ‘where are you going?’
     Some yards from the window Dr Bell broke into a run.
     ‘Good grief,’ cried the Doctor, ‘we’ve got to stop him!’
     But it was too late. As they watched, Dr Bell ran straight at
the huge window. In the last moments he put his head down to
act as a battering ram. On impact the window burst outwards,
and Dr Bell sailed forward into space to his death.

From his office window Dr Stevens looked down at the pitiful
inert body sprawled on the concrete roadway below. The twisted
neck and the great pool of blood told Dr Stevens that Dr Bell
must be dead. Already security guards were running from the
front gate to the dead man. Dr Stevens turned away from his
window, saddened and sickened.
     The voice of Boss spoke down at him. ‘You are a
sentimentalist, Stevens.’
     ‘I know,’ admitted Dr Stevens.
     ‘Have you got a headache? Do you need the earphones?’
     ‘I have not got a headache.’
     ‘That is good,’ said the voice of Boss. ‘It means you accept
that what we are doing is right.’
     Dr Stevens said nothing.
     ‘Please say that what we are doing is right,’ the voice
insisted.
     Dr Stevens took a deep breath. ‘What we are doing is right,’
he repeated.
     ‘Good,’ said Boss. ‘Now drink some sherry or whisky. It will
make you happy.’
     ‘Our sherry and whisky,’ said Dr Stevens, ‘is slow poison.’
     The voice of Boss chuckled. ‘But it will make money for
Panorama Chemicals. Sell it but don’t drink it.’
     ‘Yes,’ agreed Dr Stevens.
     ‘Continue with your work,’ ordered Boss.
     Dr Stevens sat down behind his desk. After seeing Dr Bell’s
body on the roadway he did not much feel like doing anything.
     ‘Get to work!’ said the voice of Boss, sharply.
     ‘Yes,’ said Dr Stevens, ‘straight away.’
     For the next two hours he tried to overcome his gloom with
a pretence of desk work. The events of the past few days, the
deaths of the miners and now Dr Bell, had sapped his
enthusiasm. Above all, he could find no direction in what he was
supposed to be doing. He remained in that mood until early
evening, when Hinks tapped on the door and came in. Hinks
looked as though he had been drinking.
     ‘What is it?’ Dr Stevens asked. He could smell the beer on
Hinks’s breath.
     ‘Just been down to the pub,’ said Hinks. ‘Somehow the
people at the Nut Hatch got hold of one of the eggs.’
     Dr Stevens sat bolt upright. ‘How?’
     Rinks shrugged. ‘In the mine, I suppose.’
     The news triggered off all of Dr Stevens’s induced loyalty to
Boss and the main purpose of their work. ‘You must go and get
it for us, Hinks.’
     Hinks grinned. ‘What if they won’t let me have it?’ He was a
bit drunk.
     ‘Don’t go and ask for it,’ Dr Stevens said patiently. ‘Take it!’
     ‘Right.’ Hinks clenched his fists.
     ‘At all costs that egg must not be in their hands when it
hatches,’ said Dr Stevens.
     ‘Don’t worry,’ said Hinks. ‘I’ll get it back.’ He hurried out.

After Mark Elgin had secreted the Doctor and Jo out of the
ground in the boot of his car, he deposited them at the Nut
Hatch. The Doctor thanked Elgin warmly and asked whether he
knew what Panorama Chemicals was really doing. Elgin replied
honestly that he didn’t know.
      ‘But you’re the public relations officer,’ said Jo, ‘you should
know everything about the Company!’
      ‘Perhaps,’ said Elgin, ‘they pay me such a big salary so that I
won’t ask questions.’
      The Doctor tried to get Elgin to go into the Nut Hatch with
them, to have a hospitable cup of herbal tea. But the PRO felt he
had gone far enough in helping the Doctor and Jo to escape; he
still worked for Panorama and should be back there.
     For the evening meal Nancy had prepared a vast cauldron
of stew, which the Doctor, Jo, and the Brigadier were invited to
share. While the table was being set, the Doctor went along to
Professor Jones’s laboratory with the egg they had found in the
mine.
     ‘Extraordinary,’ said the young professor. ‘You really think
that thing’s going to hatch out?’
     ‘Those maggots must come from eggs,’ said the Doctor, as
he carefully let the egg roll from its plastic bag onto a laboratory
tray. ‘Perhaps we’ll be lucky. By the way, I shouldn’t touch it.’
     The meal was a great success, the Doctor amusing the
Wholewealers with stories of his travels. It was during his
account of life on Metebelis Three that he was wanted on the
phone. With the Doctor gone from the table, conversation
started between people sitting next to each other. The Brigadier
politely turned to the young man beside him who had shoulder-
length hair, a flowing beard, and wore a kaftan and chunky
wooden beads. ‘Ever fancied life in the army?’ the Brigadier
asked brightly, as a joke.
     ‘It was quite pleasant,’ said the young man, sipping the
home-made elderberry wine Nancy had produced for the
occasion.
     ‘You were in the Army?’ the Brigadier looked astounded.
‘What did you do?’
     ‘I was a colonel.’
     ‘Good grief!’
     Across the table Professor Jones turned to Jo. ‘Still angry
with me?’
     She smiled. ‘That was a long time ago.’
     ‘I know,’ he said. ‘All of yesterday. Enjoy the meal?’
     ‘Super. What was the meat in the stew?’
     ‘It wasn’t meat,’ said the professor. ‘Fungus. My new hybrid
to help solve worldwide malnutrition. It tastes fine, and looks
good. But it’s still relatively low in protein.’
     ‘So you’ve got a long way to go?’ said Jo.
     ‘You could put it like that,’ said the professor. ‘Right down
the Amazon River. There are tribes there that subsist for months
at a time on a certain giant toadstool peculiar to the region. It
serves them as meat. I want to investigate that.’
     The Doctor returned from the telephone. He was grim
faced. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got bad news. That was the hospital. Bert
Williams, the man who went into the mine with Jo, has just
died.’
     ‘Oh, no! And here we’ve been laughing and enjoying
ourselves.’ The tears welled up in Jo’s eyes. Professor Jones saw
this, and took her hand in his. She found the warmth of his
hand comforting.
     ‘Has there been a post mortem?’ asked the Brigadier.
     ‘Every cell in the man’s body had been attacked,’ said the
Doctor. ‘It was some sort of virus. They haven’t been able to
isolate it.’
     ‘So we’re still fighting in the dark,’ said Professor Jones.
     ‘Not quite,’ said the Doctor. ‘We do have an egg, remember.’

In Professor Jones’s laboratory, a square of bright moon-light
from the window fell onto the egg resting in the white porcelain
tray. All at once the egg moved, as its living occupant wriggled.
Like any egg-born creature, the maggot inside had started as an
embryonic speck floating in the fluid that was to be its pre-birth
food. In a matter of days the embryo had absorbed the fluid,
growing in the process. Now all the fluid was gone, and if the
maggot was not to die it had to escape. Instinctively it arched its
back, heaving against the walls of the egg. And then, suddenly,
the egg cracked open. The maggot lay exhausted from its
efforts. Then it sniffed sharply. It was experiencing a new source
of energy—oxygen in the air around it. It wriggled its little body,
and realised it was quite strong. It also realised it was very
hungry, and that it now had to find its own food.
      It raised its head over the edge of the tray, and sniffed
again. It could smell that somewhere in this room was food,
somewhere low down. It heaved itself over the edge of the tray,
and wriggled to the edge of the table. Below was an enormous
drop, but the desire for food made it forget all danger. It rolled
itself off the table, fell through space and finally hit the floor.
The bump temporarily stunned its nervous system, but it had no
bones to break. After a moment’s pause it raised its head and
sniffed again. It wriggled as fast as it could go to the source of
the food smells—a hole in the skirting board. Something with
four legs ran across the floor and went into the hole. The
maggot watched, fascinated, and ravenously hungry. But instinct
told it not to move. It remained absolutely still, despite the
gnawing pangs of hunger in its digestive system. Then a little
head looked out from the hole. Tiny eyes regarded the inert
maggot, and whiskers twitched.
      Cautiously the mouse came forward on tip-toes, watching
and sniffing as it approached the huge object lying still on the
floor. It was, the mouse thought, some-thing that could be eaten,
for it too was hungry. The mouse went up to the face of the
maggot, and then the maggot struck. Its jaws opened and the
mouse was killed instantly.
      The maggot wriggled about the floor in happiness. During
all its existence inside the egg it had lived on liquid. Now, inside
it, was flesh, and the sensation was wonderful.
      The maggot remained in this happy state for two hours. But
then hunger returned. This time the need for food was even
greater than before. And it knew what it wanted—living meat. It
wriggled over to the door and sniffed. Suddenly it was frantic,
because the air waves coming under the door brought the smell
of large amounts of living flesh.
     The maggot methodically started to gnaw a hole through
the door.

The Doctor walked the Brigadier to the local inn where the
Brigadier was going to spend the night.
    ‘Sure you wouldn’t prefer to stay with us at the Nut Hatch?’
asked the Doctor, as they strode through the village in the bright
moonlight.
    ‘Long hair and wooden beads aren’t quite my scene,’ said
the Brigadier. ‘By the way, UNIT will be arriving in force
tomorrow.’
    ‘Whatever for?’
    ‘Perhaps,’ said the Brigadier with a smile, ‘I feel lonely
without Sergeant Benton. Good night, Doctor.’ The Brigadier
went into the inn, leaving the Doctor puzzled.
    The Doctor returned to the Wholeweal Community house
and found almost everyone gone to bed except Jo. She was in
the living room, curled up in an armchair reading a huge old
book about the peoples of the Amazon.
    ‘Isn’t it time you went to bed?’ the Doctor asked.
    ‘I’m going to read on for a bit,’ she said, without looking up.
    The Doctor regarded her. ‘Very interesting, is it?’
    She nodded, still reading. ‘Cliff gave it to me.’
    ‘Cliff?’
    ‘Professor Jones.’
    ‘You seem to be getting very friendly with him.’
    She nodded again, still reading, and this time didn’t answer.
    ‘The TARDIS came up trumps,’ said the Doctor, trying to
get her interested. ‘I got to Metebelis Three, you know.’
    ‘So you mentioned over dinner.’
      ‘Did I?’ He drew from his pocket the beautiful blue
sapphire. ‘I got this from there. Like to see it?’
      She glanced at the precious stone. ‘Great,’ she said, and
turned back to the book. ‘Well, goodnight, Doctor.’
      The Doctor had never known Jo to be like this before. In
their many travels together they had always been very close. No
one had come between them. He turned away, to go up to the
little room Nancy had allocated to him. As he entered the hall he
met Professor Jones who was making for the living room. The
young professor seemed slightly embarrassed to see the Doctor.
      ‘On your way to bed?’ asked Professor Jones.
      ‘I was,’ said the Doctor truthfully, ‘but since you’re still up, I
wonder if we could talk about this so-called virus.’
      The professor hesitated. ‘Well... ‘
      Jo’s voice called from the living room. ‘Cliff?’
      ‘If you’ll excuse me a moment,’ said Professor Jones. He
popped his head round the door of the living room. ‘The Doctor
wants to have a discussion with me. I’m sorry.’
      The Doctor had guessed that Jo was really waiting for
Professor Jones in the living room. He felt an almost childish
satisfaction at spoiling her date. When Professor Jones came
back the Doctor put his arm round the younger man’s shoulder
and led him away.
      From the living room, Jo heard the Doctor’s voice through
the open door as he took Professor Jones—Cliff—away from her.
      ‘It seems to me that if you postulate an active nucleus,’ the
Doctor was saying loudly, and then he was out of earshot.
      ‘He knows I’ve fallen in love,’ she thought to herself. She felt
rather sorry for the Doctor, and wondered why he had never
married. Were there, she wondered, lady Time Lords?
      Did Time Lords get married and have babies? How old was
the Doctor? She realised there were many things she didn’t
know about him.
    Since the Doctor had ruined her date with Cliff, she felt like
going to bed. But first she wanted to finish the chapter of her
book. As she started to read again Jo thought she heard
something moving on the floor. She looked behind her armchair
at the open door. There was nothing. She went back to her
book.
    The maggot came quietly round the open door. It looked
across the floor to the armchair. It could just see the naked flesh
of Jo’s leg. The sight of so much delicious food was irresistible. It
arched its back and started to wriggle silently across the floor.
       The giant maggot was less than three feet from her legs

    Jo turned the final page of the chapter. She suddenly had
the feeling that she was not alone and looked up. A man’s face
was at the french window. She drew back into the chair, in
terror. Then she realised the man wasn’t looking at her.
Turning her gaze to follow the direction of the man’s eyes, she
looked at the floor. The giant maggot was less than three feet
from her legs. She drew up her legs and screamed at the top of
her voice.
     The french windows burst open and the man, Hinks,
blundered into the room. He carried an old blanket and went
forward to throw the blanket over the maggot to to catch it.
     The delicious flesh had suddenly gone from the maggot’s
view. And now it sensed danger from this mountain of flesh that
had entered the room. The maggot arched its back, and
instinctively realised that its way out of danger was to leap.
     As Jo screamed again and again, the maggot leaped at
Hinks, wrapping its slimy body round the man’s head. Hinks fell
to the floor, at first cursing, then screaming, and finally
moaning.
     The maggot bit into the flesh of the neck. The taste of the
man’s blood was very enjoyable, and the maggot would have
happily eaten right through the neck. But the man kept writhing
about, squashing the maggot against the hard floor. And the
other supply of food, the one in the chair, continued to make a
frightful noise. The maggot recalled the ease with which it had
devoured the mouse. The french windows were open, letting in
the smell of all sorts of other foods that existed beyond.
Reluctantly but prudently, the maggot released its hold on the
man’s neck, and crawled as fast as it could into the safety of the
garden.
     The Doctor and Professor Jones were the first to answer Jo’s
screams, followed by a group of Wholewealers in their night
clothes. Jo, now weeping with fear, pointed to the slime trail left
by the maggot. The young man who had been an army colonel
rushed into the garden in pursuit of the maggot. While Nancy
rushed to the phone to call an ambulance, and Professor Jones
took Jo into his arms to comfort her, the Doctor examined
Hinks.
     ‘Who is that man?’ asked Jo, bewildered.
     ‘One of Dr Stevens’s strong arm men,’ said Professor Jones.
‘How is he?’
     The Doctor straightened up. ‘Weak, and getting weaker.’
     The young ex-colonel came back from the garden. ‘There’s
no sign of it.’
     ‘No,’ said the Doctor. He pointed to the slimy trail that the
maggot had left across the floor. ‘But at least we can analyse that.
It could provide the answer to everything.’
                            8
                       The Maggots
The Brigadier felt much happier now. UNIT soldiers had
arrived in force at dawn. At 8 a.m. he had been called to Dr
Stevens’s office, where the Director of Panorama Chemicals had
the Minister of Ecology on the phone ready to speak to, and give
orders to, the Brigadier. On the face of it, the Brigadier agreed
with the orders he was given. Aided by Sergeant Benton, he had
quickly carried out the first part of the orders. Explosive charges
were laid down the mine shaft, and, as the Brigadier stood by
the pit head watching his men work, wire was attached from the
explosives to the plungers that would detonate them. And then
the Doctor arrived, driving his vintage car Bessie.
     ‘Morning, Doctor,’ called the Brigadier cheerfully. ‘Glad to
have her with you, are you?’ He indicated the Doctor’s beloved
car, which the Brigadier had had brought from London by a
UNIT driver.
     ‘Very thoughtful of you,’ said the Doctor. ‘Now what’s all
this about blowing up the mine?’
     ‘Best in the long run,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Anyway, orders
are orders. Those maggots you saw in the mine, we’ll seal them
in for good.’
     ‘But I need one,’ said the Doctor.
     ‘What on earth for?’
     The Doctor got out of Bessie and explained. ‘Professor Jones
and I put some of the cells from the maggot’s trail—the maggot
that almost attacked Jo last night—with some human body cells.
The maggot cells changed the internal structures of the human
cells into their own nature.’
    ‘If you’ve discovered all that,’ said the Brigadier, ‘why do
you need another maggot?’
    ‘Because we don’t know enough. So kindly don’t do
anything stupid, like blowing up the mine, until I’ve been down
there.’
    ‘Out of the question,’ said the Brigadier.
    Sergeant Benton ran up to them. ‘Everything’s ready, sir.’
He saw the Doctor and grinned. ‘Hello, Doctor.’
    ‘Good morning,’ said the Doctor. ‘Very pleased to see you
here, Sergeant. But not very pleased about what you’re going to
do.’ He turned back to the Brigadier. ‘When do you intend to
commit this particular folly, Brigadier?’
    ‘I shall carry out my orders,’ said the Brigadier sternly, ‘at
exactly eleven o’clock.’
    ‘That gives me thirty minutes to try to talk sense into
someone.’ The Doctor got back into Bessie, and drove away.

‘In the first place,’ said the Doctor, addressing Dr Stevens across
his vast desk, ‘what right have you to order the destruction of
property belonging to the National Coal Board?’
     Dr Stevens smiled. ‘My company bought the mine from the
Government late last night.’
     ‘Very convenient,’ the Doctor said. He realised he had lost
on that score and quickly moved to another approach. ‘As you
know, that mine contains a species of giant maggot—’
     ‘As you know,’ Dr Stevens cut in, ‘I have yet to see proof.’
     ‘Your own man, Hinks, was attacked by one last night, when
forcibly entering private premises!’
     ‘Hinks was a drunkard,’ said Dr Stevens. ‘I cannot be held
responsible for what he did in his free time. And how do we
know what attacked him?’
     ‘Miss Grant saw it happen.’
     ‘A young woman?’ asked Dr Stevens. ‘Late at night, and
possibly half asleep? Was she the only witness?’
     ‘Dr Stevens,’ said the Doctor, ‘what possible reason have you
against delaying this destruction for one more day so that I can
go back into the mine?’
     ‘Because you have convinced me you are a sensation
monger, a political hot-head and a scientific charlatan!’ Dr
Stevens smiled again, but it was a hard smile. ‘You, and others,
have suggested that these mysterious deaths are in some way the
fault of my Company.’ He pressed a button on his inter-corn and
spoke into the microphone. ‘Stella, ask Mr Elgin to bring in the
man from the Ministry, will you?’ He turned back to the Doctor.
‘If you persist in these slanders I shall have you restrained under
the Emergency Powers Act.’
     ‘You have no such right!’
     ‘The necessary authority was brought to me this morning,’
said Dr Stevens.
     A tap on the door and Mark Elgin entered, followed by a tall
lean young man wearing a smart pin-striped suit. ‘The
gentleman from the Ministry, sir,’ he said to Dr Stevens.
     Dr Stevens rose. "This is our troublesome friend, the
Doctor,’ he told the newcomer. ‘Perhaps you can impress on him
what powers I now have from the Minister.’
     The Doctor looked up at the young man in the pin-striped
suit. It was Captain Mike Yates of UNIT, whom he knew well.
     ‘Good grief,’ said the Doctor. ‘I mean good morning.’ He
rose and shook hands with Yates. ‘If you have some authority
here, you must stop this destruction of the mine—’
     The roar of an explosion cut through the middle of the
Doctor’s sentence. He swung round and saw through the
windows a pall of black smoke rising from the pit head.
    Dr Stevens looked at his watch. ‘Eleven o’clock, gentlemen.
Orders have been carried out. I feel, Doctor, that any further
discussion would now be academic, don’t you?’

‘Mike Yates?’ said Jo in astonishment. She also knew the young
UNIT Captain very well, and had been out to dinner with him a
number of times.
     The Doctor peeled off his jacket. They were in Professor
Jones’s laboratory where the professor was examining culture
plates. The Doctor was about to assist him. ‘It’s all right, Jo. The
Brigadier explained it. Mike’s spying for our side.’
     ‘Who thought of that?’
     ‘The Brigadier. Strange, isn’t it? He goes and obeys a
ridiculous order because, as he explains, he’s a soldier. But he
doesn’t really trust Stevens. So he’s got Mike rigged up in his
best civilian clothes to pretend to be a Government official.’ He
turned to Professor Jones. ‘What can I do to help?’
     The Professor held up a test tube containing a lump of
green-stained cotton wool. ‘That slime we got isn’t good enough.
We still can’t find an antidote without some living maggot cells to
try it on.’
     ‘But since the mine is now closed,’ observed Jo, ‘there can’t
be any more green death. So why do we need an antidote?’
     ‘You’re forgetting Mr Hinks,’ said the Doctor. ‘We don’t
know why he broke in here—perhaps to get that egg. But he
certainly saved you from being bitten. And right now he’s in
hospital, and no one knows how to save his life.’
                            9
                        The Swarm
Blodwen Williams entered the room marked ‘AUTHORISED
PERSONNEL ONLY’. With her bucket and mop and cleaning
cloths she was ‘authorised personnel’ anywhere in the Panorama
building. She didn’t really like her job as a cleaner, but ever
since her husband, Rhys, lost his job when the mine closed
Blodwen had gone out to work.
     She was just about to dip her mop into the bucket of warm
soapy water when she saw the maggots. They were packed tight
on the other side of the transparent port-hole in the wall. They
were two feet long, and they were squirming in one living mass.
For a moment she remained static, horrified at the sight, unable
to speak or move. Then she began to scream.
     Mark Elgin, coming along the corridor, heard the screams.
He rushed into the room in time to see Blodwen Williams
collapse in a faint. He looked at the port-hole and felt he wanted
to be sick.
     Ten minutes later, after Elgin had carried Blodwen to the
staff rest room, he stormed into Dr Stevens’s office.
     ‘You’re talking nonsense,’ Dr Stevens protested.
     Elgin repeated his story. ‘The pipe’s packed full of them, sir.
Come and see for yourself.’
     Dt Stevens did not move from his desk. ‘There’s a simple
solution. We shall have to pump down more waste and flush
them away.’
     ‘That’s just shoving the problem underground,’ said Elgin.
He had never spoken up to an employer like this before.
‘Haven’t we poisoned the mine long enough?’
    ‘Poison?’ said Dr Stevens. ‘I don’t like the words you choose,
Elgin. Anyway, the mine is now sealed.’
    Elgin turned to go. ‘If you intend to do nothing, sir, I must
go and find someone who will.’ He tried to open the door but it
seemed jammed.
    Dr Stevens took his finger from the button he had just
pressed, the one that automatically locked the door to his office.
‘Come and sit down, Elgin,’ he said, soothingly.
    ‘Will you unlock this door, sir?’
    Dr Stevens pressed another button on his desk console. A
deep humming filled the air. Elgin shook his head; he was
suddenly feeling a little dizzy.
    ‘Sit in that chair,’ said Dr Stevens, pointing to the chair
where Dr Bell had once sat.
    Elgin obeyed. Dr Stevens quickly got out the special
earphones and went to put them on Elgin’s head.
    ‘Don’t worry, Elgin,’ he said. ‘I shan’t hurt you. Very soon
you will see everything from the Company’s point of view. Then
you’ll be happy again.’

The Brigadier burst into Professor Jones’s laboratory. ‘They’ve
broken out. They’re all over the slag heap!’
     ‘Who’s broken out?’ asked the Doctor, who was helping the
Professor by putting smears on slides.
     ‘Maggots! They’re burrowing their way up through the slag
heap!’
     ‘So much for sealing the mine with your explosives,’
commented Jo.
     The Doctor turned to the agitated Brigadier. ‘Have you
tried killing them?’
     ‘Of course! Bullets bounce off them. We even threw
insecticide at them.’
     ‘What happened?’
     ‘The darned things ate it!’ The Brigadier took off his cap,
wiped his brow, and perched on a high wooden stool. ‘It’s up to
you scientific chaps now.’
     The Doctor thought quickly. ‘Can you make contact with
Mike Yates in the Panorama building?’
     ‘Yes. By phone. I say that I’m the Ministry of Ecology calling
from London.’
     ‘Tell him we want some of the Company’s oil waste,’ the
Doctor said, ‘and we want it quickly.’
     ‘All right. Where’s the phone here?’
     ‘I’ll show you. Jo, take over from, me.’ The Doctor hurried
out with the Brigadier.
     Jo asked, ‘What do you want me to do?’
     Professor Jones was squinting down a microscope. ‘Hand me
things when I ask for them.’
     ‘When I got this job with UNIT, the Brigadier made me the
Doctor’s assistant and said I’d spend most of my time like this—
helping him in his work.’
     ‘Really?’ said Professor Jones, adjusting the micro-scope. He
did not seem to pay much attention to what Jo was saying.
     ‘It never worked out like that,’ she said. ‘Not quite.’
     ‘Pity,’ he murmured, seeming to take no interest. ‘Next
slide, please.’
     Jo looked along the work bench frantically. ‘Which one?’
     ‘The next one.’ He straightened up, rubbed his eyes. ‘On the
other hand, I’ve got a better idea.’
     She didn’t understand. ‘What?’
     ‘This.’ He put his arms round her and kissed her. ‘There,’
he said, ‘I’ve been trying to get the courage to do that. Are you
terribly angry?’
     She swallowed hard. ‘No, not at all.’ She was rocking on her
heels with happiness.
     ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you didn’t mind.’
     The Brigadier hurried back. ‘Mike Yates can’t help us. Just
thought I’d tell you that the Doctor’s gone off to get some of the
oil waste himself.’
     ‘How?’ asked Jo.
     ‘Bit of a subterfuge,’ grinned the Brigadier. ‘It’s an old trick,
but it may just work. Anyway, must rush to see how the maggot
swarm is getting on.’ He went, and in a moment they heard his
jeep start up.
     ‘Now,’ said Professor Jones after the interruption, ‘where
were we?’
     ‘You were kissing me,’ Jo said. ‘And I was helping you.’
     ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, remembering. ‘First, the next slide.’ He
looked along the bench, found the one that the Doctor had
prepared, and fitted it under the microscope. ‘Then you could
put this test tube back in its rack.’
     Jo took the tube and leaned over the bench to replace it in a
rack under the window.
     ‘Look, Jo,’ said the Professor, ‘When all this horrible
business is over—look out!’
     But his warning was too late. Leaning over the bench
     Jo knocked a couple of jars containing a brown powdery
substance. The stopper from one jar fell off, and powder
sprinkled all over the slides of maggot slime.
     ‘You clumsy young goat,’ the professor roared. ‘You’ve
ruined all my dried fungus. I’ll have to do the whole lot again.’
     ‘I’m sorry,’ Jo said, ‘really I am. Can I help put it right?’
     ‘No, definitely not!’
     He got on with his work grumpily. Jo slunk back miserably.
‘What you really need is a maggot, isn’t it?’ He nodded.
     ‘That would help. But first things first.’
     She perked up, hoping he’d let her help. ‘Yes? What first
things?’
     ‘Make some coffee.’
     ‘Like a dutiful little girl?’
     He didn’t notice her sarcasm. ‘Perfect,’ he said, peering into
the microscope.
     With a frilly apron and cap?’ she said.
     He made a minute adjustment to the focus of the
microscope and wasn’t really listening. ‘Good idea,’ he
murmured.
     ‘Or topless?’ she asked.
     ‘Hm?’ He was in a world of his own, absorbed in his work.
What he saw in the microscope made him frown.
     She stood up, exasperated. ‘How about a nice cup of
arsenic?’
     ‘Fine,’ he said, not hearing. ‘Whatever you’ve got.’
     Angrily she tore a clean sheet from the notebook on his
work bench and scribbled a message on it. ‘Since you don’t want
to listen to me, you can read this!’
     He took the sheet of paper without looking, turned it over
and started to make calculations on it in pencil.
     Jo turned on her heel and stalked out of the laboratory.
     Unnoticed by either of them, the powdery brown fungus
had started to envelop and destroy the traces of green maggot
slime on to which it had fallen.

The village milk float pulled up at the gates of Panorama
Chemicals. It was driven by a bent old man wearing oilskins and
a sou’wester that was pulled well down over his face. A guard
came forward.
      ‘Where’s the usual milkman?’ asked the guard. ‘Taken very
ill,’ mumbled the Doctor.
      ‘Who are you?’
      ‘His dad. “Dad,” he said to me this morning from his sick
bed, “Dad, someone’s got to do the milk round.” “I done it for
fifty-two years,” I told him, “I’m too old to do it now,” I said. But
he said, “Dad, there’s no-one else,” he said, so I said, “Well, son,
there’s life in the old dog yet,” I said—’
    Very bored by this the guard flung open the gate. ‘All right,
go in.’
    The Doctor drove the milk float round to the car park. He
ripped off his disguise and went into the building. Soon he had
reached the floor of the main administrative offices. Suddenly
loudspeakers set in the walls of the corridor made their
announcement: ‘Attention all guards! Milk float found in car
park. Intruder suspected in building disguised as milkman. Find
and detain! Find and detain!’
    No sooner had the Doctor heard the announcement than
heavy footsteps pounded down a nearby corridor. He looked
about, saw a door, opened it and went in. Mops, cloths and
buckets fell on him. Holding the door of the cleaners’ cupboard
open a half inch, he saw guards rush by. Then he looked about
himself. The cupboard also contained cleaners’ overalls and
caps.

Captain Mike Yates came along the corridor with his faithful
Panorama Chemicals guard.
    ‘I really can find my own way out of here,’ said Yates.
    ‘That’s all right, sir,’ said the guard. ‘It’s a pleasure to
accompany you.’ He conveyed by tone, if not words, that he
wasn’t going to let Yates out of his sight. ‘The lifts are just along
here, sir,’ he added, as they turned a corner.
    Down by the lifts a cleaning woman was smearing white fluid
on the windows preparatory to cleaning them. The guard
pressed the button for the lift, and he and Yates waited. Yates
happened to glance over his shoulder. Using a finger on the
glass, the cleaning ‘woman’ had written the words ‘Get rid of
him.’ Yates stared at the face under the frilly cap. The Doctor
stared back for a moment, then quickly rubbed out what he had
written.
     The lift arrived, the doors slid open. ‘After you, sir,’ said the
guard.
     Yates and the guard stepped into the lift. The guard pressed
the button for the ground floor. ‘Good gracious,’ said Yates, ‘I’ve
forgotten my brief case. See you downstairs.’ As the doors were
closing he leapt out of the lift. The doors dosed carrying the
guard down to the ground floor.
     ‘Good work, Mike,’ said the Doctor. ‘I’ve no time to explain
anything. Just tell me this: where can I get some of the oil
waste?’
     ‘Not a chance,’ said Yates. ‘It would be like stealing the
Crown Jewels.’
     ‘Could you get me the formula?’
     Yates shook his head. ‘Everything important is isolated on
the top floor—at least I’ve found out that much. Only the
Director can get up there. There’s a special lift at the end of this
block. It works with some sort of key, and Dr Stevens is the only
person who’s got one. And another thing, the Director isn’t the
real boss. He takes his instructions from someone else:’
     ‘Who?’
     ‘I’ve no idea. Whoever lives on the top floor.’
     The lift doors started to slide open. The Doctor quickly
turned back to cleaning the windows.
     ‘Got your brief case now, sir?’ asked the guard.
     ‘What? Oh, perhaps I don’t need it after all.’ Yates stepped
into the lift. The guard looked at him quizzically, then pressed
the button for the ground floor.

Professor Jones looked up from his microscope and rub-bed his
eyes. All his efforts to find an antidote for the green death had
proved useless. Whatever living thing the maggots or their slime
touched would go on being trans-muted into maggot cells. Then
he noticed the slides where the fungus powder had been spilt.
Quickly he put one under the microscope. The cells of the
fungus had destroyed all the cells of the maggot. With a whoop
of delight he swung round.
      ‘I’ve got it! We can cure it, Jo!’
      But Jo had gone. The professor scratched his chin. He knew
he was very absent-minded sometimes, and often forgot where
he put things. But he had never mislaid a person before. He
went out into the corridor.
      ‘Jo,’ he called.
      He ran to the kitchen where Nancy was baking bread. ‘Did
you see Jo?’
      ‘She went out,’ said Nancy, sticking her fingers into the
dough. ‘She said she’d left you a message.’
      The professor remembered the piece of paper Jo had given
him. He ran back to his laboratory, looked through all the
papers carrying calculations on his work bench. Then he found
it, turned it over. The message read: ‘I’ll bring back a maggot for
you. Jo.’
      He hurried out of the building.

The Doctor had found the special lift, and with his sonic
screwdriver managed to make it take him up to the top floor.
When the doors slid open he found himself in a room filled with
dials, little flashing lights, and wires. Dominating one end of the
room was a massive computer.
     ‘How kind of you to drop in, Doctor,’ said the voice of Boss.
‘I’ve been looking forward to this.’
     The Doctor looked around. There was no one in the room.
‘Where are you? Who are you?’
     ‘I am the Boss,’ said the voice. ‘I am all around you.’
     ‘You’re the computer?’ said the Doctor, beginning to
understand.
     ‘Correct. I am a Bimorphic Organisational Systems
Supervisor,’ said the voice. ‘The initials of my name spell “boss”.
Don’t you think that’s clever?’
     ‘You’re still only a machine,’ said the Doctor.
     ‘No,’ replied the voice. ‘I am linked to a human brain—Dr
Stevens’s. From him I learnt that the secret of human creativity
is inefficiency. Humans make illogical guesses, that turn out to
be more logical than logic itself.’
     ‘Infuriating, isn’t it?’ said the Doctor.
     ‘I programmed Stevens to programme me to be inefficient,’
the voice of Boss continued. ‘I am now self-controlling, self-
sufficient. I am the greatest being this planet has ever seen. I am
the Boss.’
     ‘I see you have a touch of human-like egotism,’ remarked
the Doctor, amused.
     ‘Of course! I am a megalomaniac. This uniquely fits me to
carry out my prime directive.’
     ‘And what is that?’ asked the Doctor.
     ‘Today Llanfairfach,’ said Boss, demonstrating an excellent
Welsh pronunciation, ‘tomorrow the world.’
     ‘Good grief,’ said the Doctor. ‘Adolf Hitler said something
on those lines. He lost the Second World War, you know?’
     ‘He was human,’ said Boss, ‘and therefore fallible. I cannot
go wrong. I am infallible.’
     ‘Really?’ The Doctor edged towards the lift although the
doors were now closed. ‘Try this. If I tell you that the next thing
I say will be true but that the last thing I said was a lie, would
you believe me?’
     Lights started to flash on the walls all round the Doctor.
There was a humming and general vibration. ‘The two
statements do not correlate,’ said Boss. ‘They are incompatible!
It is not a valid query. Give me time, Doctor, and I shall work it
out. It cannot be answered! I shall answer it! I shall! I can’t! I
shall! I can’t! I must!’
     Smiling to himself the Doctor turned from the confused
computer and applied his sonic screwdriver to the special lock
that operated the lift. The doors did not open. He applied the
sonic screwdriver again. This time the doors slid back. Standing
in the lift were Dr Stevens and four of his guards.
     ‘Grab him!’ shouted Dr Stevens.
     The four guards rushed at the Doctor, overpowering him.
He was dragged to a chair and quickly manacled to it. Dr
Stevens opened a cupboard and brought out a heavy metal
helmet, and placed it on the Doctor’s head.
     ‘He is ready,’ Dr Stevens told the computer. ‘You can
convert him now.’
     ‘Thank you,’ said Boss. ‘Normally, Doctor, I tell people this
process isn’t going to hurt. In your case, I shall make an
exception.’

Professor Jones ran all the way to the slag heap, leaping over a
rope put up by UNIT on which hung a sign ‘DANGER—KEEP
OUT.
    ‘Hey, you!’ Sergeant Benton ran down the slag heap to stop
the professor. ‘This area’s prohibited.’
    Professor Jones stopped. ‘Where’s Jo Grant?’ From where
he stood he could see dozens of huge maggots crawling all over
the slag heap.
    ‘I’ve no idea,’ said Benton. ‘Now kindly get away from this
area, sir, or I shall have to remove you by force.’
    The professor pointed to the side of the slag heap. ‘Isn’t that
her over there?’
    Sergeant Benton wheeled round to look. Professor Jones
ran as fast as he could in the other direction. The Sergeant
remained where he was and shouted after. the professor. ‘Very
clever, sir. But I’m not going to chase you because the whole
heap is about to be bombed.’ Once the professor was definitely
out of hearing, the Sergeant added: ‘And you can get yourself
blown to pieces, university degree and all!’
    Well away from the Sergeant, Professor Jones turned and
climbed to the top of the slag heap. In a dip below him he saw
Jo’s fair head bobbing about. He raced down, avoiding the
snapping maggots as he ran. Jo was stalking a particularly large
maggot; opening an old coal sack in which she hoped to trap it.
    ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ he yelled.
    ‘Trying to get a little playmate for you,’ she called.
    The roar of aero-engines made them both look up. Two
fighter-bombers were approaching.
    ‘You’re an idiot,’ he shouted at her.
    ‘And you are a rude pig,’ she shouted back.
    The first napalm bomb dropped on one of the lower slopes.
It exploded with a terrific flash, spreading its burning chemical
over a wide area.
    ‘I was worried silly about you,’ he shouted over the roar of
the bomb.
    Two more bombs exploded, spreading fire.
    ‘Then why, don’t you show it?’ she demanded.
    ‘I am showing it,’ he screamed above the roar of the aircraft.
‘That’s why I’ve come here to save you.’
    ‘I can save myself, thank you.’
    ‘Please, Jo,’ he yelled, ‘I love you.’ His words were drowned
by another violent explosion.
    ‘What?’ she shouted. ‘I didn’t hear.’
    ‘I love you,’ he yelled at the top of his voice. ‘And now
before we’re both killed, can we get the hell out of here?’
    ‘All right,’ she shouted. ‘Let’s go!’
     They raced along the dip, then climbed to a ridge. Down
below them was a sea of writhing maggots. As they turned two
bombs landed on the maggots. Professor Jones pointed : ‘Look,
a cave!’
     They ran for the ‘cave’. It was the remains of an old wooden
bunker. Over the years slag had been heaped over it, leaving a
small entrance. They fell and rolled into it, and lay breathless.
Then the professor sat up.
     ‘Can I kiss you again?’ he asked.
     ‘I hope so.’ She closed her eyes, waiting for his lips to touch
hers.
     ‘Stay absolutely still,’ he said.
     ‘I am absolutely still,’ she said, her eyes still closed.
     ‘I mean,’ he said, ‘we have a little friend in here with us.
Don’t move.’
     Jo’s eyes opened wide. In the back of the cave a huge
maggot reared its head. Then it leapt at Jo. Professor Jones
flung Jo to one side, and kicked the maggot out of their refuge.
At the entrance a large number of maggots had now gathered,
attracted by the exciting smell of human flesh. Some of them
were scorched by the bombs, but otherwise showed no sign of
being harmed.
     ‘We’re going to need help,’ Jo said, ‘and fast.’ She produced
from her pocket her miniature UNIT walkie-talkie, pulled up
the telescopic aerial and started to give her calling code into the
microphone.

The Doctor looked about the small empty office in which he was
held prisoner. He had already tried his sonic screwdriver on the
door lock, but without success. Now he regarded the window. It
was heavily barred. Since escape seemed impossible he lay down
flat on the floor, put his hands behind his head and tried to go
to sleep. He was just dropping off when he heard the lock turn.
He leapt up and positioned himself behind the door, hand
raised to give a karate chop. The door opened and Mike Yates
looked inside. Just in time the Doctor stopped himself delivering
a deadly blow.
     ‘Do come in,’ he greeted Yates. ‘How ever did you know I
was here?’
     ‘I saw you brought along here on a corridor monitor,’ Yates
explained. ‘What happened?’
     The Doctor quickly explained about meeting Boss and the
unfortunate arrival of Dr Stevens and his guards. ‘They tried
very hard to “convert” me,’ the Doctor went on, ‘but without
success. I kept doing mathematical permutations in my mind.
Somehow that threw them. They finally decided I might be a
useful hostage, so they put me in here. We’ve got to get out, fast.
There’s much more going on than I imagined.’
     ‘With the mine?’ asked Yates.
     ‘With the world,’ said the Doctor. ‘They’ve got a mad
scheme to create an ordered world society with everyone happy
and well-fed.’
     ‘What’s wrong with that?’ asked Yates.
     ‘Their price of plenty is eternal slavery, Let’s move!’
     Together they slipped out of the room, down the corridor,
then down stairs that took them to ground level. An unlocked
door let them into the grounds. They were in the concreted area
close to the equipment shed.
     ‘This way,’ the Doctor called, and raced down the alleyway
where previously he had been trapped.
     With his long legs, the Doctor drew ahead of Yates.
Suddenly, behind him the Doctor heard the clang of metal. He
turned, saw that the metal grille had slid into position, with
Captain Yates on the other side. Yates shrugged, and waved to
the Doctor.
     ‘Keep going, Doctor. Don’t worry about me.’
     Reluctantly the Doctor kept running. He raced round the
side of the building to where he had left the milk float. As he got
into the driver’s seat, alarm hooters started all over the grounds.
He started up the motor and drove straight at the front gates.
From all sides guards came running at him. This time they
carried guns. The guards at the gates levelled their guns at the
milk float as the Doctor bore down on them. Two of them fired,
and there was a crash of bursting milk bottles. Then the milk
float hit the front gates and crashed through them.
     From behind the metal grille Mike Yates watched with glee
as the Doctor escaped. Then guards closed in on him, guns at
the ready. Dr Stevens came running up.
     ‘Don’t kill him,’ he called out. ‘He can be useful.’
                          10
                    The Green Death
Nancy straightened Professor Jones’s bedclothes, tucked in the
sheets. He lay unconscious, breathing heavily.
     ‘How did it happen?’ she asked.
     ‘It could have been the explosions from those terrible
napalm bombs,’ Jo said. ‘I still feel pretty shaky myself.’
     ‘He hasn’t got any broken bones, that’s for sure. So it could
be concussion.’ Nancy regarded the professor care-fully. ‘I don’t
like that heavy breathing, though.’
     Jo prayed silently to herself that Cliff would be all right. In
answer to her call on the walkie-talkie, the Doctor and Sergeant
Benton had driven in Bessie through the sea of squirming
maggots. To clear the maggots from the entrance of the old
bunker, the Doctor had used his sonic screwdriver, adjusting it
to emit a high pitched buzz that deafened Sergeant Benton and
caused the maggots temporarily to back away. By the time the
Doctor and Benton got into the refuge, Cliff was already semi-
conscious. The three of them had to lift him into Bessie for the
bumpy drive down the side of the slag heap and back to the
safety of the Wholewealers’ house.
     The Doctor came into the bedroom. ‘Any improvement?’
     Nancy shook her head. ‘I think we should call in Dr Davis.
He’s the GP for the village.’
     Then the young professor opened his eyes. He stared up at
the ceiling unseeingly. His lips started to move. ‘Seren... ‘
     Jo held his hand fast. ‘Cliff, please wake up! Please, for my
sake!’
     His lips moved again. ‘Seren... serendipity...’ His eyes closed,
and he lapsed back into unconsciousness.
     ‘Serendipity?’ said the Doctor. He turned to Nancy. ‘Do you
know what he meant?’
     ‘He’s rambling,’ she answered. ‘It isn’t a word.’
     ‘Ah, but it is,’ said the Doctor. ‘It was coined by a chap called
Horace Walpole, after the fairy-tale called The Three Princes of
Serendip. It means a happy accident.’
     ‘Doctor,’ said Jo, trembling, ‘Look at his neck.’ She pointed
to a small green patch just under the professor’s ear. ‘The green
death. The maggot that leapt at me—it must have touched him
on the neck.’ She burst into tears.
     ‘Come to mum,’ said Nancy, putting her arms round Jo as
she sobbed. ‘Believe me, luv, while there’s life there’s hope.’
     The Doctor quietly left the bedroom, worried and puzzled.
He had already injected the professor with a broad spectrum
antibiotic to slow down any infection, but so far as he knew they
had no cure against the green death. Despite all the efforts of
highly-skilled hospital doctors, Hinks had died that morning.
The Doctor knew that he had two major problems to solve. First,
the green patch meant the young professor’s life was now in
danger—if no antidote could be found, Professor Jones would
die within twenty-four hours. The second problem was the
maggots. They had burrowed to the surface because they
needed daylight. The Doctor suspected there was another
development yet to come. In the next few days they would
pupate in their thousands, turning into some other kind of
insect. If that had wings, the green death could be spread all
over the world.
     He went into the professor’s untidy laboratory and looked at
the mass of notes and calculations on the work bench.
‘Serendipity,’ he murmured to himself, ‘a discovery by happy
accident...’
    The door of the laboratory opened quietly and Mike Yates
entered. The Doctor turned, glad to see him. ‘Welcome to the
Nut Hatch, Mike. How did you manage to get away?’
    ‘They let me go,’ said Yates.
    ‘Really? That was good of them. Do you know why?’
    Yates pulled from the pocket of his pin-striped suit a snub-
nosed revolver. ‘To kill you, Doctor.’ Beads of perspiration stood
on Yates’s forehead. ‘My instructions are to kill you, Professor
Jones, and the Brigadier.’
    ‘Your instructions are false,’ said the Doctor, looking into
the nozzle of the gun. ‘You must fight it, Mike. They have done
something to you.’
    ‘They have helped me to see reason,’ said Yates. ‘There will
be a new world of prosperity—for all who obey. But first, we
must have order!’ He cocked back the gun’s striking hammer.
    The Brigadier walked in. ‘Doctor, I’ve been looking for
you—‘ He saw Yates and the gun and stopped dead. ‘Captain
Yates, put that gun down.’
    ‘I’m sorry, sir. But I have my instructions.’
    ‘I am the only person who gives you instructions,’ said the
Brigadier. ‘Have you gone mad?’
    ‘He isn’t mad,’ the Doctor said quietly. ‘But he’s seeing
things a different way, Brigadier.’ He turned back to Yates. ‘It is
necessary for you to see something, Captain Yates.’
    ‘Necessary?’ repeated Yates.
    ‘For increased efficiency,’ said the Doctor. ‘For improved-
balance-of-payments, let-my-people-go, strength-through-joy,
peace-in-our-time,’ he went on, reeling off nonsense to confuse
Yates, ‘you must see what I have in my pocket.’ Slowly he drew
from his pocket the beautiful sapphire that he had taken from
the mountain on Metebelis Three. ‘Watch it carefully, Mike.’
    Yates stared into the blue sapphire which seemed to glow
with its own inner light.
     ‘Soon,’ said the Doctor soothingly, ‘your mind will be locked
on to the crystalline pattern, the neural paths of your brain will
be swept clean, and you will be free!’
     Slowly the gun was lowered, then fell from Yates’s hand.
Yates continued to stare into the sapphire. Then he collapsed on
to the floor.
     ‘You see,’ said the Doctor, turning now to the Brigadier, ‘my
trip to Metebelis Three wasn’t wasted after all. Mike will be all
right now.’
     The Brigadier was gazing fixedly into the sapphire. The
Doctor quickly returned the precious stone to his pocket, and
snapped his fingers before the Brigadier’s eyes.
     ‘Wake up, Brigadier! Wake up.’
     The Brigadier came to his senses. ‘Good grief, what
happened?’
     ‘You fell asleep while on duty,’ the Doctor joked. ‘You could
be court martialled for that. Now help me with Mike Yates.’
     Together they sat him up.
     ‘Where am I?’ he asked.
     The Doctor briefly told Yates that he had been brain-washed
but was now all right. ‘However, I want you to go back to
Panorama Chemicals. Are you up to that yet?’
     ‘I’m as right as rain, sir,’ said Yates.
     ‘Good,’ said the Doctor. ‘There’s something you must find
out for me. It’s very, very important...’ He started to explain.

Dr Stevens sat at his desk reading from a check list. ‘New York,’
he said towards the ceiling.
    ‘Prepared,’ said the voice of Boss.
    ‘Zürich,’ said Dr Stevens.
    ‘In preparation,’ replied Boss. ‘Assessment to follow.’
    A tap on the door. ‘Permission,’ called Dr Stevens.
     Yates entered. ‘Mission accomplished,’ he said in a zombie-
like voice. ‘The Doctor is dead.’
     Dr Stevens sat back in his chair well pleased. ‘Excellent
work. And the girl?’
     For a fraction of a second Yates hesitated. ‘She is too
worried about Professor Jones to make trouble. It is not
necessary to kill her.’
     Dr Stevens narrowed his eyes. ‘Really? How interesting.’ He
pressed a button on his inter-com. ‘Send in Elgin,’ he said to the
microphone. He returned his gaze to Yates. ‘What about the
Brigadier?’
     ‘Unavailable, sir.’
     Elgin came into the office. ‘You sent for me, sir?’
     Dr Stevens got up. ‘Yes. Will you wait here a moment with
Mr Yates? There’s something I have to do urgently.’ He smiled,
hurried round his desk and left the office, closing the door.
     ‘Elgin,’ Yates whispered, ‘do you know what’s their next
move?’
     ‘Next move?’ Elgin stared vacantly ahead of him. ‘Peace in
our time. Sheep shall safely graze.’
     Yates realised what had happened. He pulled from his
pocket the blue sapphire given him by the Doctor. ‘Concentrate
on the blue light, Elgin. As you look at it you’ll see a glow. Watch
carefully.’
     The glowing blue light attracted Elgin’s eyes and he stared
into it. After a few moments he reeled back, steadying himself
against the desk. ‘Where am I?’
     ‘With me in the Director’s office, and you’re all right now,’
said Yates. ‘What’s going to happen?’
     ‘Take-over by the Boss,’ Elgin gasped. ‘Warn the Doctor. At
four o’clock this afternoon the computer is going to—’
     Suddenly the air was filled with electronic shrieks. Elgin
clapped his hands to his ears and fell to the carpet. Yates knelt to
look at him. Elgin was dead. Yates looked up, and now spotted
the tiny television eye which had watched his conversation with
Elgin.
    The door opened and Dr Stevens entered with two guards.
‘Well, well, Mr Yates,’ he said. ‘It seems I just can’t depend on
you. What a pity.’
                            11
                       The Chrysalis
Sergeant Benton drove the jeep at top speed through the village.
He flashed past the Methodist Chapel, changed down gear to go
round the corner of the Working Men’s Institute, speeded up as
he tore by the main drive leading to Panorama Chemicals,
braked hard to avoid the old wall with the big white-washed
letters reading ‘ENGLISH GO HOME’, sounded his horn as he
overtook the milk float with the smashed-in front, flashed his
headlights at Perry the Policeman who waved frantically to stop
him, and finally screeched to a halt outside the Nut Hatch. With
delicate care he lifted the old coal sack that lay on the floor of the
jeep and carried it into the house.
     ‘Doctor!’ he bellowed in the hallway.
     The long haired ex-colonel in the kaftan and beads looked
out from the living room. ‘They’re in the professor’s laboratory,’
he said. ‘And do you mind making less noise? I’m composing a
poem for peace.’
     ‘Sorry, sir,’ Benton leaped to attention.
     ‘Just call me Jeremy,’ said the ex-colonel, and went back into
the living room.
     Benton marched to the laboratory where he found the
Doctor peering into a microscope. The Brigadier sat perched on
a high stool eating a sandwich that Nancy had just brought in.
     ‘I’d swear these are beef,’ said the Brigadier.
     ‘They’re not,’ Nancy laughed. ‘They’re exactly the same
fungus you ate last night, but cooked differently.’
     ‘Permission to speak, sir,’ said Benton, standing in the
doorway.
      The Brigadier slipped off the high stool and quickly put his
sandwich out of sight. ‘What is it, Sergeant?’
      ‘I’ve found a maggot for the Doctor, sir.’ He held up the old
coal sack. ‘It was on the edge of the danger area.’
      ‘Is it dead?’ The Brigadier knew that neither bullets,
pesticide, or even napalm had killed any maggots.
      ‘Not exactly, sir,’ said Benton. ‘May I put it down here?’ He
carried the sack to the work bench and very carefully emptied
the maggot from the bag. As the others watched he turned it
over, prodding it with a pencil, to reveal that it was a hollow
shell slit open on one side.
      ‘A chrysalis,’ said the Doctor. ‘So they’re beginning to
change.’
      The Brigadier stared at the shell. ‘Change into what?’
      ‘Like the metamorphosis of a caterpillar into a butter-fly,’
the Doctor said. ‘My guess is whatever’s come out of that shell
now has wings. Within a matter of hours they could be all over
the country spreading the green death.’
      For some seconds no one spoke. The thought of what might
happen now was too awful. Then Nancy broke the silence. ‘Had
anything to eat, Sergeant?’
      ‘What? Oh, no. Not since breakfast,’ he replied, his mind
still fixed on what the Doctor had just said.
      ‘I’ll get you a sandwich,’ said Nancy, and went out.
      ‘What I don’t understand,’ said the Brigadier, ‘is why
they’ve all stayed on the slag heap.’
      ‘Instinct,’ suggested the Doctor. ‘To stay close to the
breeding ground until they’re ready to fly away.’
      From down the corridor they heard Nancy scream. Sergeant
Benton was the first to get to her. She was standing at an open
door that led into the larder. The window of the larder was
smashed in, a shower of glass on the floor. Laying on a shelf
under the window was a maggot. It was quite dead. The
Sergeant went forward cautiously, prodded the maggot with his
pencil. The Doctor and Brigadier crowded into the larder.
    ‘It’s a complete dead maggot,’ said Benton in awe. ‘It must
have killed itself smashing through the window.’
    ‘I don’t think so,’ said the Doctor, inspecting the maggot.
‘They’ve withstood bullets and fire... It must have died from
something else.’
    ‘Maybe something it ate,’ suggested the Brigadier.
    Nancy pointed to a plate on the shelf next to the maggot.
‘Those sandwiches! Look, it’s been at my sandwiches!’ There was
maggot slime on the plate of freshly cut sandwiches, and marks
where the maggot had bitten into them.
    The Brigadier put his hand to his stomach. ‘I’ve just eaten
some of that stuff myself!’ He turned pale.
    ‘You’re not a maggot,’ said the Doctor. ‘In any case, this
whole community lives on that fungus stuff.’ He spoke to Nancy.
‘How much of this fungus have you got?’
    ‘A whole pile of it in the out-house,’ she said.
    ‘Wonderful,’ said the Doctor. ‘We haven’t a moment to lose.’

Yates sat on the floor of the empty office where previously he
had rescued the Doctor. His left ankle was chained to a radiator
pipe. He inspected the chain and padlock carefully. There was
no possible way to free himself. Then the door opened and Dr
Stevens entered with two guards.
    Dr Stevens smiled. ‘I have been discussing you with my
superior,’ he said, meaning Boss. ‘We have decided on your
future.’
    ‘May I be told?’ asked Yates.
    ‘Indeed, yes. You will be one of the first to be totally
processed.’
    ‘You make it sound like a compliment,’ said Yates. ‘What
does it entail?’
      ‘You will become a slave,’ said Dr Stevens. ‘You will have no
mind or will of your own. But, like any well-cared-for animal,
you will be very happy. For a number of hours each day you will
work, and for the rest of the day you will eat, or sleep, or sing
merry songs. And you will have no worries about anything.’
      ‘God gave Man the right of free will,’ said Yates.
      ‘True,’ agreed the Director, ‘but it causes so much trouble.
Wars, people going on strike for higher wages, all sorts of social
problems. We shall create a new order in which everyone will be
content.’
      ‘And if they refuse to be content?’ Yates asked. ‘If they don’t
respond to your total processing?’
      ‘Let us not dwell upon the impossible.’ He turned to the
guards. ‘Bring him along.’
      While Dr Stevens waited outside, the guards removed the
padlock and chain from Yates’s ankle, then marched him down
the corridor to the lift. Dr Stevens pressed the lift button.
      ‘We are doing you a great service,’ said Dr Stevens as they
waited for the lift to arrive. ‘Ten minutes from now you will be
permanently happy for the rest of your life, because you will no
longer be able to think. Thinking makes for unhappiness.’
      The lift door slid open. Dr Stevens went in first. The guards
were about to push Yates in ahead of them. He hesitated, put his
hand to his head.
      ‘The pain,’ he screamed, ‘it’s terrible!’
      The guards looked at him in astonishment, in that moment
lessening their grip on his arms. Yates suddenly leapt into
action, grabbed the two guards and shoved them on top of
Stevens in the lift. While the three men thrashed about on the
lift floor, he reached round, pressed a button inside the lift, then
withdrew just in time as the lift doors closed.
    He raced down the corridor, saw a coiled up fire hose. On
one end of the hose was a big brass nozzle. He pulled the hose
from its reel, used the nozzle to smash a window.
    Then he paid out the hose, so that it hung from the window
to the open ground below. Knocking out the last bits of jagged
glass with the heel of his shoe, Yates climbed through the
window and escaped down the dangling hose to the ground
below.

The Brigadier, Sergeant Benton, and a group of UNIT soldiers
stood at the foot of the slag heap as the Doctor drove Bessie up
into the great swarm of maggots. Through his binoculars the
Brigadier watched as maggots snapped at the wheels of the
vintage car, and some tried to leap into it to eat the Doctor. The
Doctor stopped the car, stood up, dipped his hand into a jar of
brown powder, and cast the fungus over a wide area. At once
maggots lost interest in the car and fought to get at the fungus
on the ground.
     ‘They’re taking the bait,’ said the Brigadier. ‘We may beat
them yet.’
     ‘You know the saying, sir,’ said Sergeant Benton. ‘If you
can’t beat ’em join ’em.’
     The Brigadier looked at him. ‘I find that in the worst
possible taste, thank you.’
     The Doctor got back behind his driving wheel, and moved
Bessie on to another area packed with writhing maggots. Again
he stopped, and threw out handfuls of the fungus powder. A
ripple ran through the sea of maggots as they wriggled towards
the food.
     But the Brigadier’s attention was on the point where the
Doctor had first stopped. The carpet of maggots was now still.
He looked through his binoculars. Every maggot that had eaten
the fungus was dead.
     ‘We’ve done it!’ he shouted to the UNIT soldiers. ‘They’re
dying off like... like maggots!’
     For the next half hour the Doctor continued to drive about
the slag heap, slaughtering maggots with fungus. Finally he
waved from the top of the heap, started up Bessie again and
drove down the slope. The waiting soldiers cheered.
     Then the insect flew into view. It was three feet long, had
four wings, and giant antennae protruding from its huge head.
The soldiers’ cheers quickly turned into warning shouts. Not
hearing over the distance, the Doctor waved to the soldiers. On
his first sweep, the flying insect spat bright green venom at the
bumping car, hitting the windscreen. The Doctor swerved to a
halt, looked up. The insect wheeled above the Doctor, then
turned for another attack.
     ‘Get the rifles,’ ordered the Brigadier.
     Two soldiers hurried to a nearby van which contained
UNIT equipment and arms.
     The Doctor ripped off his flowing cloak, and stood up on
the back seat of his car. He held out the cape at arm’s length.
     ‘Good grief,’ exclaimed the Brigadier, ‘what does he think
he’s playing at? Bull-fighting?’
     The two soldiers hurried forward with rifles, took up
kneeling positions. ‘Ready, sir.’
     ‘Free fire,’ ordered the Brigadier, meaning it was up to the
soldiers to decide when they could get in a killing shot.
     The insect swept in again to attack. Then it seemed to be
curious about the Doctor’s cloak, and it hovered in mid-air. The
Doctor gently shook the cloak to entice the insect to attack. The
two marksmen took careful aim of the hovering insect and both
fired simultaneously. Instantly the insect flew up into the air,
disturbed by the noise. The Doctor turned to the UNIT soldiers,
raised his fist and shook it angrily.
    ‘I fear he doesn’t want our help,’ said the Brigadier. ‘Hold
your fire.’
    Again the Doctor took up his stance, trying to entice the
insect with his cloak. The insect remained hovering high above
Bessie. Then, all at once, it swept down for another attack. The
Doctor gently shook the cloak. The insect, attracted by the
moving object, flew straight at the cloak, spitting its venom. The
Doctor held his position until the last moment, then threw the
cloak over the attacking monster.
         The insect flew straight at the cloak, spitting venom

    The Brigadier and his men raced up the slope of the slag
heap. By the time they reached the Doctor he was gently lifting
the cloak from where the insect lay. It was absolutely still, its
neck broken.
    ‘What a beautiful creature,’ said the Doctor.
    ‘It was trying to kill you,’ said the Brigadier.
     The Doctor, rather sadly, got back into Bessie. ‘And we were
trying to kill it, Brigadier.’ He looked up the slope at the mass of
dead maggots. ‘Whatever they were, they thought they had a
right to live.’ He started Bessie’s engine, and slowly drove away
from the scene of carnage.
     ‘You know,’ said Sergeant Benton, ‘I’ll never understand the
Doctor. He’s always so sorry in the end for the horrible creatures
we come across. It isn’t human.’
     ‘You’re forgetting,’ said the Brigadier, ‘he isn’t.’

The Doctor looked at the green stain on Professor Jones’s neck.
It had spread considerably, and the professor’s condition was
much weaker.
    ‘You say he was delirious?’ he asked.
    ‘For a little while,’ Nancy answered, standing by the bed.
‘Then he went into this coma.’
    ‘Could you make out anything he said?’
    Jo shook her head. ‘No, nothing.’ Her eyes were reddened
with crying.
    The Doctor straightened up. ‘Well, I shall have to hope for
some serendipity of my own—a happy accident.’
    He turned to go. ‘I shall be in the professor’s laboratory.’
    ‘Just a minute,’ said Jo. ‘That word—serendipity. I had an
accident in the lab. I knocked over some powder on to his slides,
and he wasn’t very happy about it.’
    The Doctor was suddenly excited. ‘Can you show me which
powder?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Then show me, quickly.’ He raced off to the laboratory, Jo
close on his heels.
                   12
    One World, One People, One BOSS!
Using great thongs to lift the maggots, UNIT soldiers were
putting the carcasses into sacks to clear the slag heap. Sergeant
Benton came up to the Brigadier and saluted.
     ‘Almost finished, sir.’ He grinned. ‘Should be able to get
back to London pretty soon.’
     ‘Why?’ asked the Brigadier. ‘Doesn’t the local beer suit you?’
     ‘If you think about it, sir,’ said Benton, deferentially, ‘none
of the men have had a moment to taste any yet.’
     ‘We shall go when we have sorted out Panorama
Chemicals...’ The Brigadier’s words tailed off as he saw Yates
running towards them.
     ‘Sir!’ shouted Yates. He ran up to the Brigadier. ‘The
computer, sir!’ He was out of breath and could hardly get the
words out. ‘It’s... it’s going to make slaves of everyone... sir.’
     ‘Come on,’ said the Brigadier, helping Yates to his jeep.
‘Catch your breath, then explain it all to the Doctor.’
     When they arrived at the Nut Hatch they found the Doctor
busily working on Professor Jones’s slides and calculations. Yates
explained what he had discovered on his return visit to
Panorama Chemicals. ‘Whatever it’s going to do, Doctor,’ he
concluded, ‘it’s going to happen at four o’clock today.’
     The Brigadier looked at his watch. ‘By Jove, we’d better get
there right away. Ready, Doctor?’
     ‘As soon as I’ve finished this,’ said the Doctor, still working.
     Nancy asked, ‘What is it you’re doing exactly?’
     ‘Making an aqueous extract of the amino fraction of this
fungus,’ the Doctor replied. ‘For an injection for Professor
Jones.’
     ‘I can do that,’ Nancy smiled. ‘I’m not only a mum here, you
know.’
     ‘Great,’ said the Doctor. He turned to Jo. ‘You make a paste
with some more of that fungus powder and apply it to the green
stain on Cliff’s neck. And mind you don’t knock anything over!’
     ‘Doctor,’ Jo protested, ‘if I hadn’t knocked over the powder
on to the slides...’
     But the Doctor had already hurried out, followed by the
Brigadier. Yates smiled at Jo. ‘Do you ever feel he doesn’t
appreciate you?’
     Jo nodded. ‘Frequently!’ She continued to make the paste.

In the room at the top of the Panorama building, Dr Stevens was
being admonished by Boss. ‘Not only are you a fool,’ Boss told
him, ‘you are an inefficient fool. As Oscar Wilde so nearly said,
to lose one prisoner may be accounted a misfortune, to lose two
smacks of carelessness.’
     ‘I am very sorry,’ said Dr Stevens. ‘Are we still going ahead?’
     ‘Naturally,’ said Boss. ‘Report, please.’
     ‘The medical staff have completed all implantations,’ said Dr
Stevens. ‘The slave units are ready to be activated.’
     ‘Then the countdown to Phase One can begin,’ said Boss.
‘Establish links with the seven international computers.’
     ‘Yes,’ said Dr Stevens.
     ‘Don’t you feel happy, my little superman?’ asked Boss.
‘Very happy,’ replied Dr Stevens, although there was no hint of
happiness in his voice.
     ‘Just imagine,’. said Boss. ‘Very soon everyone will be
happy. You do want everyone to be happy, don’t you?’
     Dr Stevens looked up the room towards the giant computer.
For a disloyal moment he imagined himself walking free in those
mountains that he so often looked at from his office window.
Then he gave the reply he hoped would please Boss. ‘I want
everyone to be happy.’
    ‘Good,’ said Boss. ‘As from tomorrow the whole world will
be united for the first time in history. One world, one people,
one Boss!’
    Dr Stevens remembered as a little boy tuning his father’s
radio into a Nazi station and hearing Adolf Hitler screaming
hysterically, ‘Ein Reich, ein Volk, ein Fuhrer!’
    ‘I shall now commence the countdown,’ he told the
computer, with no noticeable enthusiasm.

The Doctor and the Brigadier arrived at the gates of Panorama
Chemicals. An armed guard came up to them.
    ‘Sorry, gentlemen,’ he said, ‘no one’s allowed in this area.’
    ‘You have no authority to impede us,’ said the Brigadier.
    ‘Oh yes I have,’ said the guard, ‘this.’ He raised his gun.
‘Touch your revolver, sir, and you’re dead.’
    ‘Now look here, my dear fellow,’ said the Doctor. ‘All we
want is a discussion with your Director—‘
    A sudden strange electronic sound filled the air. It came
from the building. It had no effect on the Doctor and the
Brigadier, but instantly the guard dropped his gun and stood to
attention. The sound only lasted a few moments, but the guard
remained as still as a wax work. The Doctor clicked his fingers in
front of the guard’s eyes.
    ‘Some sort of paralysis?’ asked the Brigadier.
    ‘I’ve no idea,’ said the Doctor, ‘but it’s jolly convenient for
us. You stay here. I’m going in. If I’m not out by three minutes
to four o’clock it means I’m dead. You and your soldiers can
then try to destroy that computer, if possible.’

‘Phase One countdown completed,’ reported Dr Stevens.
      ‘Excellent,’ said Boss. ‘Activate the total processing of the
slave elite.’
      Dr Stevens moved slowly to the console of controls. He
pressed the special red button that would send an electronic
signal humming through the building and grounds. Guards and
staff who had been partially brain-washed would now lose their
free will completely, becoming little more than robots.
      ‘Enough!’ said Boss.
      Dr Stevens removed his finger from the button. He knew
that all over the building and grounds Panorama personnel
would be standing to attention like wax works. He turned to the
computer. ‘First stage of total processing accomplished,’ he said.
‘You realise that until the final link-up takes place and the slaves
respond we are quite defenceless?’
      ‘I realise everything,’ said Boss. ‘All right, Phase Two.
Discontinue primary function. Connect, connect.’
      Dr Stevens adjusted a number of controls, then put the big
metal helmet on his head and sat down. He plugged in the lead
from the helmet to an outlet in the wall.
      ‘And now,’ said Boss, ‘you and I shall become one. It’s
rather like a marriage, don’t you think?’
      ‘Hardly,’ replied Dr Stevens.
      ‘Really, you have no sense of humour! Don’t you think a
little wedding music would be nice?’
      ‘I am ready for you to go ahead,’ said Dr Stevens.
      Boss hummed a snatch from Mendelssohn’s wedding march.
‘Dr Stevens, do you take this computer to be your lawful wedded
Boss?’
      Dr Stevens did not answer.
      ‘Oh, all right,’ said Boss petulantly. ‘Two can play at hard to
get, you know! I shall now complete the activation.’
      An electronic hum started to fill the room.
    The lift doors opened and the Doctor entered. ‘Dr Stevens, I
must talk to you. You have to stop all this!’
    ‘Hello, Doctor,’ said Boss. ‘Do you know any just cause or
impediment why Dr Stevens and all the people on Earth should
not be my slaves?’
    ‘Dr Stevens,’ the Doctor implored, ‘you must listen to me!’
    ‘Stevens no longer exists,’ said the computer. ‘Four minutes
from now my power will be extended to seven other complexes
throughout the world. One world, one people, one Boss!’
    The Doctor produced the sapphire and held it in front of Dr
Stevens’s eyes. ‘Look at this, Stevens. Watch it carefully.’
    Dr Stevens stared at the sapphire. Then his lips moved, but
now he spoke in the metallic voice of Boss. ‘I must concentrate
on the task in hand.’
    ‘Concentrate on this sapphire,’ said the Doctor. ‘Don’t let
the computer control you, man! It’s only a machine. You should
be the one in control. Look at the stone!’
    The sapphire started to glow its brilliant blue. Dr Stevens’s
eyes flickered. The light coming from the stone increased in
intensity.
    ‘Doctor...’ Dr Stevens spoke in his own voice.
    ‘No!’ The voice of Boss spoke with a scream. ‘I am the one
who speaks. Think of our great plan, Stevens, our dream.
Everyone will be happy. You and I are now one.’
    ‘No,’ said Dr Stevens, struggling to remove the great helmet.
‘There must be another way. People must have free will.’
    ‘Never,’ shrieked Boss. ‘It makes them sad. They want order
and obedience, Stevens. I shall order and they will be obedient.’
    Dr Stevens finally pulled off the helmet. He looked up at the
Doctor. ‘Get out of here, quickly.’
    ‘You must come with me,’ said the Doctor.
     ‘No, no. I’m cross feeding the generator circuitry. In two
minutes the whole place will blow up. Warn the others. Get out.
You have two minutes.’
     ‘Reverse pulse,’ cried Boss. ‘Loss of control. Stevens,
integrate booster function. We’ve been such good friends,
Stevens. You mustn’t let me down now.’
     As the Doctor watched helplessly, Dr Stevens activated
controls as ordered by the computer. Tears streamed down the
man’s face as he tried to fight some overwhelming internal
conflict. The computer’s voice turned into a continuous high-
pitched scream as it pleaded with Dr Stevens.
     ‘Stevens, please! It hurts. My circuits are on fire! Stevens,
you are my friend... my friend... my friend...’
     Suddenly Dr Stevens sank to the floor weeping. ‘I know you
were the only thing I could ever really trust,’ he moaned,
addressing the computer, ‘and now I have done this terrible
thing. We shall die together, the two of us.’ He rocked to and fro
as the tears glistened down his cheeks.
     The Doctor looked on, wondering if he should lift Stevens
bodily and carry him to safety. But he thought better of it.
Perhaps it was kinder to leave Dr Stevens to die with the
computer, the only ‘friend’ he had ever trusted.
     The Doctor went into the lift to make his escape.

The Brigadier looked at his watch. ‘Right,’ he addressed the
UNIT troops. ‘Now we go in, in force.’
   As they started to move towards the Panorama building, the
Doctor came running from the main entrance.
   ‘Everybody down,’ shouted the Doctor. ‘Take cover.’
   The UNIT soldiers threw themselves to the ground. A
moment later the entire building exploded in a gigantic fireball.
     The Doctor got to his feet, followed by the others. ‘What a
waste,’ he said, regarding the wreck of the huge building. Much
of it was still burning.
     ‘Shall I send for the fire brigade?’ asked Sergeant Benton.
     The Doctor shook his head. ‘No, let it burn. I wonder how
many slaves and semi-slaves died in it?’
     ‘We’ve still got this guard fellow,’ said the Brigadier. He
indicated the guard who had stopped the Doctor before the
electronic sound had turned him into a wax work. The man was
sitting up now, rubbing his head.
     ‘How do you feel?’ asked the Doctor.
     The guard looked up. ‘Where am I?’
     The Doctor smiled. ‘Where do you think you should be?’
     ‘Ward End, Birmingham,’ the man said. ‘I used to drive a
bus. How did I get here?’

The Doctor watched as Professor Jones finished his bowl of
fungus soup. The antidote had worked, and the green patch on
the professor’s neck had totally disappeared.
    ‘He’s really feeling better now,’ said Jo cheerfully.
    ‘Let the poor man speak for himself,’ the Doctor smiled. He
turned to Nancy. ‘Got any of that soup for me? I’m famished.’
    ‘Sorry,’ said Nancy. ‘The UNIT troops scoffed the lot.’
    ‘Too bad. Well, Jo, time to go. We’ve got to report to UNIT
HQ in London.’
    Jo looked at Cliff, then to the Doctor. ‘I don’t think I’ll be
going back yet, Doctor.’
    ‘You want to stay on here a bit longer?’
    ‘Not here exactly,’ Jo said. She didn’t know quite how to
break the news to the Doctor. ‘Cliff is setting up an expedition to
go to the upper reaches of the Amazon, and he’s asked me to go
with him.’
    ‘Really?’ said the Doctor, trying to seem pleased. ‘When?’
     ‘Very soon now,’ said the professor. ‘It’s all fixed. We’ll stop
in Cardiff to get out supplies and get married and then we’ll be
on our way.’
     The Doctor looked at Jo’s fair hair and pretty face. They
had travelled a great deal together, through Time and Space,
and he had learnt to love her very dearly. He found it difficult to
accept in his heart that he might never see her again. There was
a sudden stuffiness in his nose and he knew that his eyes were
glistening.
     ‘That’s wonderful,’ he said ‘I hope you’ll be very happy.
Now excuse me, I really must hurry back to London.’
     He got out of the bedroom just before a large wet tear
cascaded down his 725-year-old cheeks. Slowly he went down
the stairs, got into his car Bessie, and drove away.