Doctor Who BBCN04 - The Deviant Strain

  The Novrosk Peninsula: the Soviet naval base has been abandoned, the nuclear submarines are rusting and rotting.

  Cold, isolated, forgotten.

  Until the Russian Special Forces arrive – and discover that the Doctor and his companions are here too. But there is something else in Novrosk. Something that predates even the stone circle on the cliff top. Something that is at last waking, hunting, killing. . .

  Can the Doctor and his frieds stay alive long enough to learn the truth? With time running out, they must discover who is really responsible for the Deviant Strain. . .

  Featuring the Doctor as played by Christopher Eccleston, together with Rose and Captain Jack as played by Billie Piper and John Barrowman in the hit series from BBC Television.

  The Deviant Strain

  BY JUSTIN RICHARDS

  Published by BBC Books, BBC Worldwide Ltd.

  Woodlands, 80 Wood Lane. London W12 0TT

  First published 2005

  Copyright c Justin Richards 2005

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Doctor Who logo c BBC 2004

  Original series broadcast on BBC television

  Format c BBC 1963

  ‘Doctor Who’. ‘TARDIS’ and the Doctor Who logo are trademarks of the British Broadcasting Corporation and are used under licence.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  ISBN 0 563 48637 6

  Commissioning Editors: Shirley Patton/Stuart Cooper Creative Director: Justin Richards

  Editor: Stephen Cole

  Doctor Who is a BBC Wales production for BBC ONE

  Executive Producers: Russell T Davies, Julie Gardner and Mal Young Producer: Phil Collinson

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Henry Steadman c BBC 2005

  Typeset in Albertina by Rocket Editorial, Aylesbury, Bucks Printed and bound in Germany by GGP Media GmbH

  For more information about this and other BBC books.

  please visit our website at www.bbcshop.com

  Contents

  Prologue

  1

  ONE

  9

  TWO

  21

  THREE

  33

  FOUR

  47

  FIVE

  57

  SIX

  65

  SEVEN

  75

  EIGHT

  89

  NINE

  97

  TEN

  105

  ELEVEN

  113

  TWELVE

  131

  THIRTEEN

  143

  FOURTEEN

  153

  FIFTEEN

  163

  SIXTEEN

  173

  SEVENTEEN

  187

  Acknowledgements

  189

  About the Author

  191

  The day he died was the best of Pavel’s life.

  They had agreed to meet on the cliffs, between the wood and the stone circle. It was bitterly cold and his feet crunched into the frosted snow.

  The full moon reflected off the white ground, casting double shadows eerily across the landscape. Behind him, the brittle, leafless trees clawed up towards the cloudless sky. Ahead of him, the icy stones glinted and shone as if studded with stars.

  And beside him, holding Pavel’s hand, was Valeria. He hardly dared to look at her in case the dream faded. It had to be a dream, didn’t it?

  The two of them, alone, together, at last.

  He did look at her. Couldn’t stop himself. Lost himself in her wide, beautiful smile. Watched her ice-blonde hair blown back from her perfect smooth-skinned face. Felt himself falling into sky-blue eyes. A dream. . .

  A nightmare.

  Her eyes widened, smile twisting into a shout, then a scream.

  Darkness wrapped round them both.

  A sudden glimpse of the

  shadowy figures shuffling towards them from the wood. Then hands clamped over their mouths – bony, dry hands as if the trees themselves were grabbing at them.

  The world turned as the two of them were dragged off their feet, twisted, carried shouting for help. Pavel’s hand was snatched away from Valeria’s. The last time he saw the girl’s terrified face was as she 1

  clawed back at him, desperate to make contact again, desperate for help.

  A dark, robed figure stepped between them, blotting out his view.

  A black hood covered the head, face in shadow with the moon behind like a cold halo. The figure turned towards Valeria.

  The last thing Pavel saw was the blackness of another figure looming over him.

  The last thing he heard was Valeria’s scream. Terror and horror and disbelief. As she saw beneath the hood.

  The TARDIS froze for an infinitesimal moment, caught between the swirling colours of the vortex. Then it flung itself forwards, sideways and backwards through infinity.

  Despite the battering the outside shell of the TARDIS was taking, inside was quiet and calm. The central column of the main console was doing what it was supposed to do; all the right lights were flashing; Captain Jack Harkness was whistling and all was well. Jack paused mid-whistle to press a button that really didn’t need pressing, then resumed his rather florid rendition of ‘Pack up Your Troubles. . . ’

  The warning bleep was so perfectly in time with the beat that he didn’t even notice it until he was halfway through the next chorus.

  ‘Smile, smile, smile. . . ’

  Bleep, bleep, bleep.

  Then he was all action. At the console, checking the scanner and scrolling down the mass of information. Not a lot of it made sense, but he nodded knowingly just in case the Doctor or Rose came in.

  ‘A warning?’

  He checked another readout.

  ‘Cry for help. . . ’

  Grinned. ‘Damsel in distress, maybe.’ Probably best not to touch anything. Probably best to wait for the Doctor.

  Then again: ‘What the hell. . . ’

  The Doctor arrived at a run, Rose in his wake. He was stern, she was grinning.

  ‘What’s the fuss?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Just a distress call,’ Jack told her, moving aside as the Doctor’s el-bow connected with his stomach. ‘Nothing much. Happens all the 2

  time on the high frontier.’

  ‘Not like this,’ the Doctor told him, not looking up from the scanner.

  ‘This is serious stuff.’

  As if in reply, the bleeping changed from a regular pulse to a vio-lent cacophony. ‘That shouldn’t happen.’ Slowly, the Doctor turned towards Jack. ‘You haven’t done anything stupid, have you?’

  ‘What, me? You think I don’t know the standard operating procedure?’

  ‘There isn’t a standard operating procedure,’ Rose reminded him.

  She was at the console too now, straining to see the scanner. ‘Here, let’s have a butcher’s.’

  ‘Oh, great. Distress call comes in and you want to open a meat shop.’

  ‘Shut it, you two,’ the Doctor ordered. ‘Someone’s responded to the signal, so that’s all right.’

  ‘Is it?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Yeah. Whoever it was will go and help. Sorted.’

  ‘They will?’ Jack asked quietly.

/>   ‘Bound to. Morally obliged. They get first dibs. No one else’ll bother now there’s been a response, will they? Automated systems broadcast for help, someone responds and they start streaming all sorts of location data and details. Signal strength’s gone up 500 per cent, probably using the last of their back-up emergency power. Though after so long it’ll be a waste of someone’s time, I expect.’

  ‘I wonder who responded,’ Rose said. She was already turning away, dismissing the problem from her mind.

  ‘Er, well,’ Jack said. ‘Actually. . . ’

  The Doctor’s mouth dropped open. ‘You didn’t. . . ’ He turned away as Jack started whistling again. ‘You did.’ He was back at the scanner.

  ‘They’re getting pretty frantic now, thinking they’re about to be rescued from whatever godforsaken lump of rock they’re stuck on. Well, they needn’t think I’m going to. . . ’ His voice tailed off into a frown.

  ‘Morally obliged,’ Jack said quietly.

  ‘Yeah, we should go and help, Doctor,’ Rose put in. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘Some barren wilderness that’s good for nothing,’ Jack suggested.

  3

  The Doctor looked up, smiling again now. ‘It’s Earth – early twenty-first century.’

  Jack nodded glumly. ‘Told you so.’

  One of General Grodny’s large hands was wrapped around a cut-glass tumbler. His other hand held the remote control for the wall screen.

  His face was set in a granite grimace that gave no clue as to how much the vodka was burning his throat. But when he spoke it sounded as if his voice was being strained through broken glass – hoarse and discordant and rough.

  ‘How long ago?’

  The men with him did not need to ask what he meant. The energy pattern was flashing on the image that covered the screen. They had started with a map of the whole of northern Russia. The energy pulse was a pinprick of yellow on the red background. Then they zoomed in to the Novrosk Peninsula. Then Novrosk itself. Finally this – a satellite picture. It was so clear you could see the base and the old barracks and military facilities. The submarines were dark slugs edging into the frozen water of the bay. The energy pulse was a ripple of discordant colour across the cliff tops.

  ‘It started eleven minutes ago. There may have been some background energy before that, but within tolerance. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘And why is it not coming from the submarine pens?’ the general demanded. ‘If it is radiation from the old reactors?’ A new thought struck him and he gulped at the vodka. ‘Have the missiles been removed?’

  ‘Er, most of them. But there are still some SSN-19s on one of the boats.’ The aide swallowed. ‘Perhaps several. Actually we don’t know.’

  Grodny sighed. ‘Of course we don’t know. We don’t know anything.

  Not any more. Why should we care if there’s a radiation leak in the middle of nowhere and a few Shipwreck class Cruise missiles ready to soak it up. You know how many Shipwrecks an Oscar II carries?’

  His two aides exchanged glances. They knew. ‘With respect, General. . . ’

  4

  He answered his own question. ‘Twenty-four.’

  ‘This is not a radiation leak, sir.’

  ‘And you know how powerful each of those missiles is?’

  ‘They have been decommissioned, though not removed,’ the second aide said nervously. He knew the answer to this question too. ‘The warheads have been disabled, but the missiles remain in place.’

  ‘It’s not a radiation leak, sir,’ the first aide repeated. He was sensible enough not to raise his voice.

  ‘The equivalent of half a million tons of TNT. Twenty-four missiles per boat, perhaps a dozen boats. . . ’

  ‘Fifteen,’ the second aide murmured. He was sweating.

  ‘We must be thankful that whatever is leaking does not set off Cruise missiles.’ He swirled the glass, letting the liquid lap round the top.

  ‘Even if it will kill everyone on the peninsula.’ He sipped again at the vodka. ‘As if we hadn’t condemned them all to death when we left them there twenty years ago.’

  ‘It’s not –’

  ‘I heard you the first time,’ the general snarled. ‘But if it isn’t radiation, what is it?’

  No answer.

  ‘Then we need to find out. And we need to tell the Americans that we have a reactor leak that we can handle, in case they get any ideas.

  Assure them it is not a launch signature.’

  The second aide shifted uncomfortably, loosened his stiff collar with a sweaty finger. ‘Need we tell the Americans anything, sir? I mean, Novrosk is an ultra-secret establishment – the submarine pens, the scientific base. . . ’

  Grodny jabbed a stubby finger towards the screen. ‘If we can see it, so can they. If we have tried to keep it secret, you can be sure they have known about it for years. Where is Colonel Levin?’

  It took them a moment to realise he had changed the subject. Then the first aide replied, ‘His team is on their way back from. . . that business in Chechnya.’

  Grodny nodded, his expression changing for the first time as the trace of a smile was etched on it. ‘Send him in.’

  5

  ‘You want to see him, General?’

  ‘No, not here, you fool.’ Again he jabbed at the screen.

  ‘Send him in there. To find out what’s going on.’

  ‘He is expecting to come home, sir,’ the first aide ventured. He swallowed. ‘I wouldn’t like to be the one to tell him. . . ’

  ‘Then order someone else to tell him,’ Grodny snapped. ‘I want Levin to handle it. He is the best we have. And he’ll be in no mood to mess about.’ He shifted in his chair, turning to look at the two aides standing nervously beside him. ‘Any more than I am.’

  Less than ten minutes later, an MI-26 Halo helicopter swung in an arc over Irkutsk and started on a new bearing. A week earlier it had carried a full complement of eighty-five combat troops on its outward journey. Now it was bringing thirty-seven back.

  As he slammed down the radio, Colonel Oleg Levin’s face was a mask of angry determination.

  ‘It’s fading. Power’s running down, I s’pose,’ the Doctor said. He tapped at the flickering lights on the scanner that represented the pulse beat of the signal.

  ‘They must be in a bad way,’ Jack said.

  ‘Do we know who they are?’ Rose wondered. The lights and readings meant nothing to her. ‘What they are?’

  ‘Probably long dead,’ the Doctor decided. ‘But since our associate here told them we’d come and help, we’d better check to be sure.’

  Jack raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, if you don’t want to.’

  ‘It’s not whether I want to, is it? I’m morally obliged.’ The Doctor nudged him aside as he moved round the console. ‘ You morally obliged me.’

  ‘Me too,’ Rose reminded them.

  ‘It’s a repeating pattern,’ Jack told them. ‘A loop.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it would be. Like “Mayday, mayday, mayday.”’

  ‘Or “SOS, SOS, SOS”,’ Rose added.

  Jack sniffed. ‘I just meant maybe we can decipher it. Work out what it means.’

  6

  ‘It means “Help.”’ The bell at the side of the console dinged and the Doctor thumped at a control. ‘Coming?’

  Jack was still examining the line of pulse beats on the scanner. ‘If it is a loop, maybe we should look at it as a loop.’ He flicked at a control and the repeated line bent round on itself to form a circle. The pulses were shown as illuminated patches, slightly different shapes and sizes spaced slightly irregularly.

  Rose peered over Jack’s shoulder. ‘Looks like a map of Stonehenge,’

  she said. ‘Come on, we’re getting left behind. As usual.’

  ‘What were you saying about Stonehenge?’ the Doctor called as they stepped out of the TARDIS.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ Rose said.

  She was glad of her coat, pulling it tight around her
against the bitter chill. The bright sunlight seemed to make no impact on the inches of snow lying underfoot.

  ‘That’s good. Because. . . ’

  The Doctor was striding out across the snow-covered plain, staring at the landscape ahead of them and leaving a trail of footsteps in his wake.

  The TARDIS was on the top of a cliff, wind blowing round it, sending Rose’s hair into a frenzy and kicking up puffs of snow at her feet. She could hear the crash of the waves from far below. But her attention was on the Doctor. He turned and looked back, grinning.

  ‘Interesting, don’t you think?’

  To one side of him was a wood, the trees spiky and bare, dripping with icicles. To the other side of the Doctor, on the horizon, stood a line of stones. Standing stones. They seemed to glitter in the cold sunlight, as if studded with quartz that was catching the light.

  ‘A stone circle,’ Rose said. ‘That’s a coincidence.’

  ‘Coincidence, my –’

  But Jack’s words were drowned out by the sudden roar of sound.

  The wind was blowing up even more. Snow blasting across the cliff and stinging Rose’s eyes.

  A huge helicopter, like a giant metal spider, was hanging menacingly in the air, level with the top of the cliff. A door slid open halfway 7

  along its side, and a man leaped out – a soldier. Khaki uniform, heavy pack, combat helmet, assault rifle. And behind him a line of identical figures leaping to the ground, keeping low, spreading out in a circle and running to their positions.

  The Doctor wandered slowly back to join Rose and Jack. ‘Welcoming party?’ he wondered.

  The circle complete, the soldiers levelled their rifles – aiming directly at the Doctor and his friends. The first man out of the helicopter was walking slowly towards the middle of the circle. His own rifle was slung over his shoulder and he moved with confidence and determination. He stopped directly in front of the Doctor.

  And, just from his eyes, Rose could tell he was furious.

  8

  ‘What are you doing here, near the village?’ the soldier snapped.

  ‘If they call it the village.’

  ‘What would you call it?’ the Doctor asked.

  ‘Community,’ the soldier suggested. He was a large man – broad and tall, bulked out by his combat uniform and heavy pack. ‘Dockyard.