Doctor Who - Slipback

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DOCTOR WHO

SLIPBACK

By ERIC SAWARD

***

Based on the BBC radio serial by Eric Saward by arrangement with the British Broadcasting Corporation

***

A Target Book

Published in 1987 By the Paperback Division of W.H. Allen & Co. PLC 44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

First published in Great Britain by W. H. Allen & Co. PLC 1986

'Doctor Who' series copyright Q. British broadcasting Corporation, 1985, 1986 Typeset in Baskerville by

Fleet Graphics, Enfield, Middlesex

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Anchor Brendon Ltd, Tiptree, Essex

ISBNO 426 20263 5

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent,

resold, 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 upon the subsequent purchaser.

***

CONTENTS

Part One: In the Beginning ...

1 The Vipod Mor

2 The Life and Times of Shellingborne Grant

3 Something Nasty in the Ducting

4 'This Is the Captain of Your Ship ...'

Part Two: ... Goodnight and Amen

5 The Dissolute Time Lord

6 Bath Time

7 The Voice Within

8 'Mr' Seedle and 'Mr' Snatch

9 The Search Begins

10 The Meeting of the Minds

11 The Search Ends

***

For Jane, with fondest love.

***

PART ONE: In the Beginning ...

***

1 The Vipod Mor

The galaxy of Setna Streen was not unlike our own so-called Milky Way. At its centre, a mass of stars

seemed to form a flat dice or hub. Spiralling out from this were what appeared to be 'S'-shaped spokes

that tapered into thin mists. In fact, the whole thing, when viewed from afar, looked very much like a

Catherine wheel frozen in all its glory.

The more romantic' preferred to see it as another sort of wheel, its rim now broken and decayed, but one

that was once part of a chariot that carried some long-forgotten god across the heavens. As most

galaxies are of a similar shape, cynics were heard to echo that this mobile deity was a rather reckless

and messy driver. Not only did he appear to break a great many wheels, but he was very casual in the way

he abandoned his debris all over the universe.

Now, it is interesting to note that towards the end of the twentieth century, a man from Earth, by the

name of Horace Noakes, set out to prove that the 'chariot wheel' theory was true.

Of course people laughed, especially as he cited the so called myths put about by the ancient Greeks.

Horace reasoned that these were not stories inspired by a surfeit of retsina or ouzo, but genuine

sightings.

When the scientific establishment had stopped sneering, they started to examine his evidence more

closely, hoping that it would provide them with a few more smirks and sniggers.

In his book The Giants Who Walked the Heavens - An Every-day Story of Cosmos Folk, Horace went on to

argue the significance of the Zodiac signs.

As we now know, the various group of stars we call constellations are not related in any way at all. In

fact, many of the stars making up such a cluster are often separated by hundreds of light years. It is

only the perspective placed on them, when viewed from Earth, that gives them any form of tenuous

relationship. This, of course, is known by any three-year old with an IQ of minus ten. The real puzzle

was why those particular stars had been chosen to make up the configuration imposed upon them, when it

was obvious to a dead Voltrox that they didn't resemble the image they were supposed to represent.

Horace had an answer for this.

He reckoned that the ancient Greeks knew that these stars were vast distances apart and that the various

clusters were never meant to represent the named images they were given, but were simply reference

points to establish the size and shape of. a living person or creature they had seen in the heavens.

The howls of hysterical laughter from the scientific establishment grew louder and coarser. -

In an attempt to create some sort of credibility, Horace set about proving mathematically that the

proportions of his heavenly giants were on the same scale as the spiral galaxies, and that such enormous

people required wheels of similar dimension for their carts and chariots.

This was too much for the scientists. Sick with laughter, they took out their pocket calculators and

started to prod and jab at them, in the laid-back way mathematicians do, pausing only to crack subtle,

academic jokes such as: 'I'd've hated to clear up after a horse the size necessary to pull such a

chariot!'

But as the digital answers flashed up on their digital screens, they paused and wiped the tears of

laughter from their faces. Horace's calculations seemed to be correct. 'It wasn't possible!' they cried

as one voice. And not wanting to appear any more foolish than they were, they immediately set about

trying to find other ways to discredit him.

But they could have saved their effort as they had already succeeded in planting the seeds of ridicule

in people's minds. When Horace's book was finally published, it was viciously attacked by the critics.

This was sad, as no-one had been able to disprove anything he had written. It was even sadder that the

critics, blinded by their own prejudice, could not see the energy, grace and skill that had gone into

the book's construction. Even if, as they believed, every word was untrue, they chose to ignore the

incredible flights of imagination necessary to argue such a theory. But worse still - as they were

supposedly people of education and letters - they could not see or appreciate the pure, good writing

which was on the page.

Although the book sold well, it was bought for all the wrong reasons. People would memorise passages

from it, then regurgitate them at drinks parties, laughing. like blocked drains as they did. It had

become chic to mock Horace.

Unable to cope with the ridicule, Horace retired into obscurity. Two years later he died of a broken

heart.

While Horace had been suffering his terrible torment, a scholar by the name of Grigory Constintine had

been working on deciphering a language known as Linear A. Now, so-called Linear A was the written

language used by the ancient Greeks. Although scholars had spent a great deal of time attempting to

interpret the script, it had remained elusive. That was until Grigory had discovered the key.

Possessive of his new-found knowledge (and concerned that he might be mistaken), Grigory would not allow

anyone in on his secret until he was satisfied that he could decipher any random' Linear A inscription.

Locked in a small room at the Athens museum, he worked on the many clay tablets which had been

discovered on archaeological digs all over Greece. But the more he studied, the more he became

withdrawn, until people began to believe Grigory had been mistaken, and that he had not been able to

decipher the script.

Then one day he announced that he was to publish his findings. Unfortunately, Grigory showed the only

copy of his manuscript to a colleague. Later that evening his work room was broken into and the

manuscript along with several vital clay tablets were stolen.

Neither thief, manuscript nor tablets were ever found. Grigory was convinced this was because the

scientific establishment never wanted it, for the missing tablets confirmed Horace Noakes's theory to

the last detail.

Of course, no-one believed Grigory and dismissed his claims as some sort of publicity stunt, which was

considered to be in rather bad taste- for a man of his brilliance and academic standing.

Like Horace, Grigory died a broken man, even though he went down in history as the person who had

deciphered Linear A. The year was 1996 AD.

Now, although Setna Streen was not unlike our own galaxy in shape, there were many major differences.

Whereas the Milky Way can only boast of two planets inhabited by intelligent life forms, Setna has

seventeen.

Why Setna proved more conducive to the production of life was a bit of a mystery, as was the fact that

the life forms evolved much faster than those in the Milky Way. Some anthropologists have put this

development down to the cultivation of the grape.

On Earth, so-called homo sapiens in his early stage of development seemed happy enough to live in caves,

hunt mammoths, dress himself in skins and win the company of a spouse by killing her relatives and then

carrying her off to his part of the swamp.

In Setna Streen it was very different. Long before any member of the galaxy had even learnt the art of

making fire, they discovered the joy of over-ripe grapes fermenting on the vine.

Such was the pleasure derived from eating such fruit that they wanted to experience this delectation all

year round. But vines, even in Setna, only produce one crop a year. Therefore it was necessary to find

ways to store the grapes.

To achieve this, they first had to invent the barrel. Once this had been done, they soon learnt that

only the juice of the grape was necessary to produce what became known as wine.

But drinking from a barrel was not only difficult, but wasteful, as it was inclined to be spilt. It was

then necessary to invent glass. Not only was it more pleasant to drink out of a leaded crystal goblet,

they also found that wine kept very well in bottles.

Now, as any good vintner knows, cork is still the most effective way to seal a bottle, which meant they

had to learn how to smelt iron so that they could invent the corkscrew.

As we all know, the production of wine also attracts the people from Customs and Excise, who, somehow,

along the way, had managed to invent themselves. Now, why the people from C and E should be so

interested in wine is still a mystery, for all they want is to tax it, not enjoy the pleasure of its

consumption. So it then became necessary for the population of Setna to invent ships and aeroplanes so

that they could justify the duty free shop.

And so it went on.

It is interesting to note that when the joy of wine was discovered on- Earth, massive, wonderfully

creative civilisation soon followed - Egypt, Greece, Rome. When these empires crumbled, and wine became

a scarce commodity, civilisation sank into the Dark Ages. It wasn't until wine once more became

plentiful that surges of energy known as the Renaissance occurred. Fortunately, during one of these

periods of creativity, the off-licence was invented, and since then the people o£ Earth have never

looked back.

The other inhabited planet of the Milky Way, Snibbits 9, never did invent wine. So, until this day its

people still live in caves and commune closely with nature. In some parts of the universe, this planet

is known as Paradise; in others as Hell.

When the history of the universe is finally written, it will; be seen that wine was the greatest single

factor in promoting, both artistic and technological evolution.

Although Setna had had its fair share of both domestic and interplanetary wars, it had also enjoyed

periods of harmonious peace, as, in fact, it was doing now. Whenever one of these lulls occurred the

interplanetary council would meet and try and decide how best to exploit the peace.

Inevitably, the word tourism would creep into the conversation.

Now as a rule, tourism usually assists peace. After all, there is nothing better for curing racial

prejudice than to pack a-bucket, spade and flip-flops and spend a fortnight visiting foreigners in their

own lair. Usually it takes no more than a couple of days to unwind before you become aware of how

pleasant and agreeable the natives are. By the end of the first week you have learnt that, apart from

the language, you aren't that different from each other after all. By the end of the second week you

don't really want to go home. When you finally do, you then spend the long winter months pining over a

collection of out of focus holiday snaps and saving to go back, or to somewhere even more foreign.

Only fools say that travel doesn't broaden the mind. It's true that it is very difficult to develop any

major insight into another nation when all you do while there is spend your time activating the melanin

in your skin by lying on the beach. But simply being in a foreign land does slowly develop empathy,

while at the same time whittling down to size our own national arrogance.

The same would have been true for the people of Setna if only they had allowed themselves to get on with

their holidays. But the authorities wouldn't allow them to.

Each planet felt that it had more to offer than any of the others, and therefore wanted to be the centre

of all tourist activities. Unfortunately, such silly selfishness had led to several interplanetary wars.

It wasn't until someone suggested that an independent committee be set up to study the tourist

possibilities of each planet that any progress was made. Wisely, the committee decided to ignore all

'official' information supplied in favour of their own separate survey.

When announcing their intention, the committee had expected resistance from the various governments.

However, instead, they became very excited and suggested the project be expanded to include a thorough

archaeological and anthropological study of each planet too.

So instead of hiring a freighter, as had been the original plan, money was found to build a proper

survey ship, which was to include all the necessary facilities vital to such a mission

It took five years to construct the craft and, when finished it was the finest of its kind. As a token

of good will, it was painted green, the Setna colour for peace.

Now all the ship lacked was a name.

At first this proved difficult, as each planet wanted one which reflected its own particular endeavour

and commitment to the project. It wasn't until someone suggested the name Vipod Mor that the problem was

solved.

The story concerning Vipod Mor is interesting only in as much as he was an enigma. He only ever made one

appearance, but such was its technological brilliance that it has never been forgotten.

About five hundred years ago, when the planets of Setna were busy putting up artificial satellites,

sending out deep space probes and generally showing off by putting people on their respective moons, an

old man, looking very much like an Old Testament prophet, came amongst them. He said that his name was

Vipod Mor, that he was a Time Lord, an that his mission was to warn the people of Setna against the

dangers of experimenting with time-travel.

Now this seemed rather strange advice, given that technologically the people of Setna were as far away

from time experiments as the inventor of the wheel was from being able to build a motor car. This made

the people of Setna wonder whether the old boy had simply got the wrong galaxy, or that the whole thing

was a massive hoax.

Neither did it help to clarify the confusion with the method he had used to announce his message. Unlike

the prophets of the past, who would drift into town, make their way to the market square, rent a soap

box and deliver their message of doom or salvation to a bemused crowd, he had used

television.

But not in the conventional way. That would have been too simple. Instead he had somehow managed to cut

into the regular transmission of every television company on each and every planet of Setna Streen.

To have achieved such a take-over on just one planet would have been, for those days, a brilliant

technological feat. But simultaneously on all seventeen was a near miracle.

Of course the various planets didn't know that at the time. It wasn't until a hundred and fifty years

later, when the warp engine had been perfected, and interplanetary travel was possible, that the people

of Setna learned the truth.

Yet the mystery remained. Why had Vipod Mor gone to all that trouble? And why had he made his

declaration so long before anyone in Setna had the technical skills necessary for time travel?

The crew of the survey ship Vipod Mor, much to their distress, would find out why.

***

2 The Life and Times of Shellingborne Grant

***

Running at quarter speed, the Vipod Mor coasted gently through space. Something was wrong with one of

the main warp engines. Although the onboard computer searched frantically for the fault, she was unable

to locate the precise problem.

The crew twiddled their thumbs and waited. Waiting was something they weren't used to.

The ship was now into the eighth year of its ten year mission to survey all the planets of Setna Streen.

Up until a week ago the ship had functioned perfectly, requiring nothing more than routine maintenance.

Now everything seemed to be going wrong: niggling things that took hours to repair.

Even the onboard computer had become a little scatty. She would often forget or confuse her

instructions, offering false or irrelevant data.

It seemed as though everything aboard the ship was wearing out at the same time. The Chief Engineer had

assured the Captain that this was impossible. Even if the computer failed to report a malfunction, the

rigorous maintenance programme operated by his repair team would pick up most faults before they became

critical. The poor man was still arguing his case when a deck plate gave way beneath him. Such was his

terrible cursing, as he tumbled through the black void, into the service ducting below, that it caused a

heavy duty steam pipe to rupture and he was scalded to death.

Needless to say, this incident did not help to reassure the Captain as to the worthiness of his ship,

especially as the offending deck plate was in his cabin.

Neither was the ship's morale improved when the party sent to retrieve the Chief's body reported that

all they could find were his boots.

At first, the Captain thought that the Chief was still alive, and, because of his confused or concussed

state., had simply wandered off into the endless service shafts.

But when the search party found the remains of a fresh, human femur, there was little doubt what had

happened: the Chief Engineer had been eaten by something rather unpleasant.

Immediately the. computer was set to work to locate the intruder, while further search parties, under

the direction of Second Lieutenant Shellingborne Grant, were sent to investigate the areas of the

ducting beyond the computer's scrutiny.

Grant, who was the Vipod Mor's so-called computer expert, wasn't pleased with his current task. He had

never liked the Chief Engineer, finding him a bullish, pedantic individual, who seemed to have more

rapport with the machines he serviced than with other members of the crew. At least that is what he told

people at cocktail parties.

The real reason was somewhat more calculated and mercenary.

Although only thirty-five years old, Shellingborne Grant had led a very full life. His natural good

looks and superficial, easy-going personality made him very agreeable company. But Grant wasn't an

honest person. In fact, he was quite the reverse with an almost pathological hatred of being poor.

Of course, there is no virtue in being poor. Anyone who has tried to secure a small loan from a bank,

without collateral is only too aware of how managers of such establishments view those sort of requests.

To be able to borrow money requires that you already have some, in one form or another, which somehow

seems to make the loan side of banking rather redundant.

But Grant was never poor-poor. He always had enough to eat, somewhere warm and moderately comfortable

live and rarely went without what passed for fashionable clothing.

Yet when asked why he wanted to be rich, he could never offer a positive answer. He certainly didn't

have any ambition to own a large house in one of the fashionable areas of his planet. Neither did he

want his own space shuttle with or without tinted glass, speelsnape skin-covered seats and polished

alloy exhaust ports.

He just wanted to be rich and have a fifteen figure bank account.

On hearing this, his friends thought that Grant had hidden vices which required vast amounts of cash to

be indulged. But they were mistaken as Grant had told the truth for once in his life: he just wanted to

be rich. .

Achieving this was something else. The easiest way was to be born into a wealthy family. The best way

was to inherit it without any complicated ties. The least agreeable, although still acceptable in

criminal circles, was to marry a gullible, wealthy widow. Another way, of course, was to be become an

'expert' in some arcane subject that has cash value to industry. But this required talent, dedication

and hard work, something Grant was allergic to: It also required an excellent brain to be a genius,

which Grant also didn't have. The only academic pennant he could fly was a second class honours degree

in computer design and shoe repairing. (A second subject was mandatory at the university he attended.

Most students chose something which complemented their main one - but not Grant.)

Yet, being a computer designer did give him access to the machines where other people's money, ideas and

secrets were stored. This he decided to exploit and a year later he was arrested for embezzlement.

Fortunately for him, but unfortunately for society, he was let out on bail, which he promptly jumped. He

then stowed away on board a space freighter destined for Praxis 30, a remote planet on the edge of Setna

Streen. At the age of twenty-two he had granted himself the honour of becoming an interplanetary crook.

And so it went on.

Although Grant was able to buy another identity, with the chance of building a new life, he always

spoilt things by stealing from those who trusted him.

By the time he was twenty-six he was wanted for embezzlement on twelve separate planets. All of a sudden

the galaxy was becoming too small for him.

Then one night, while drinking in a Voxnic bar on Zaurak Minor - considered by some to be the seediest

planet in the galaxy - Grant met, or rather fell over a disbarred brain surgeon by the name of Oliver

Sneed.

In his day, Sneed had been considered the greatest specialist in his subject, that was until someone

discovered how specialised he had become. Sneed, apart from being a brilliant surgeon, was also a great

gambler, prepared to bet on almost anything, especially when drunk. For some unknown reason he believed

that his 'luck' was inviolable when he was inebriated. It was true that he had been very fortunate in

the past, making the most outrageous bets and winning. But never before had he gambled with his

reputation. It was to prove his undoing.

The event occurred one dark, wet evening when Sneed was guest of honour at the Interplanetary

Psychologists and Psychiatrists Convention. It always seemed to rain when the psychs were in town. No-

one seemed to know why. As soon as such a convention was announced heavy, dark cumulus nimbus

clouds

would gather over the building designated as the venue. Usually it would start raining about a week

before they arrived, the downpour becoming even heavier whilst the conference was in session. Yet as

soon as it was over, out would pop the sun. If the psychs had decided to become rain 'dancers, rather

than brain experts, they would have made a fortune

Legend has it that the people of Morbus, a planet noted for, its convention facilities, grew tired of

the deluge which accompanied their gatherings. Yet as their business was hosting conventions, they felt

they couldn't let such valuable customers down. After all, it wasn't the psychs' fault it always rained

when they gathered en masse, but at the same time the people of Morbus were looking forward to a

pleasant summer.

After much discussion starships were sent out to search the nearby galaxy for another planet which could

provide a suitable venue. The starships travelled far and wide until they came across a pretty, blue

planet inhabited by simple folk who spent their days having a good time.

Not wanting to exploit the local people, the representatives from Morbus shopped around until they found

a farmer who would rent them a few hectares of land for the period of time required. On making the deal,

they quickly erected a temporary convention centre and then warned the farmer of the impending rain

storm, suggesting he took necessary precautions. Thinking he would go away and invent the umbrella or

plastic raincoat or something similar, they went home. .

But the farmer over-reacted; concerned by what a downpour could do to his corner of the desert. So,

after a lot of consideration, he invented the container ship and loaded onto it everything he thought

might prove useful.

In due course the delegates arrived and, as predicted, it started to rain as it had never rained before.

Unfortunately several knotty problems arose which caused the convention to over-run its allotted

fortnight by nearly four weeks.

So heavy had been the rain that when they finally emerged from the conference, they found they were

surrounded by an ocean.

As the delegates boarded their starship, the flight computer informed them that its sensors had just

picked up the presence of a small, drifting vessel. Further investigation showed it was the ship built

by the farmer. On its bow was emblased the name SS Ark. It is interesting to note how the intrusion of

alien life-forms can affect not only the ecology of a planet but also its history and myths.

After Sneed had delivered his highly controversial speech to the convention - The Advantages of Psycho-

Surgery Over Both Chemo and Long Term Deep Analysis - he sat back and waited for his audience to

explode.

Now, it should be understood that psychiatrists and their camp followers are very touchy when it comes

having their methods criticised. Why this should be a complaint common to all psychs is yet another

great mystery. Paranoia is the most common psychiatric condition known, yet it is most prevalent in the

profession committed to understanding and eradicating it.

Setna was not an exception. In that particular galaxy, like elsewhere, there are two schools of thought

concerning the treatment of mentally disturbed patients. The cheapest, and therefore the most common, is

the use of drugs to stabilise what is believed to be a chemical imbalance in the brain. Whether mental

disorder has anything to do with chemicals, or anything else, has yet to be proved, although drug

therapy does make the patient calmer. Of course the success of such treatment is very much down to the

prescribing doctor; who must get the prescription absolutely right if the patient is to make any form of

recovery.

There are many critics of this method who argue that you are simply treating the symptoms of-the

condition and not the cause. These critics, needless to say, belong mainly to the second school of

psychiatric thought.

They call themselves psychoanalysts.

In brief, they believe that 'life' - ie. people - screw each other up. Why your own species should have

this effect on itself is the greatest mystery of all. But, indisputably, it does.

Therefore it is vital that the patient comes to terms with 'life', and -its accompanying feelings of

frustration and inadequacy, by examining their problems and ultimately coming to understand them.

This is much easier said than done, as treatment is always very painful. After all, who wants to meet,

let alone come to terms with, one's real self, as such a festering tangle can never be a pretty sight.

What's more, the patients are expected to unravel this mess for themselves, ironing out the twisted

strands until they take on a shape and proportion resembling normality.

This process of self-examination - hopefully developing self-understanding- is supposed to lead to a

healthy state of chemistry in the brain. In other words, same ends, as the chemo-therapists, but very

different means.

But unlike drug treatment, the cause is also supposed to be dealt with and not just the symptoms.

This analysis, as it is called, is usually done under the strict supervision of a psychiatrist. As the

treatment is often very lengthy, it is also very expensive. Therefore to receive such treatment you

either have to be very rich or very mad.

Now, there is only one subject that both schools of psychiatric thought agreed upon, and that was in

their attitude towards the ideas promulgated by Sneed. To operate on the brain for the purpose of

supposedly curing a personality disorder, or a psychosis or neurosis, was an anathema to them. After

all, they would have argued, you don't cut a person's nose off simply because they have a cold.

Their attitude stems from the days when psycho-surgery was used to 'restore' a state of conscience to

otherwise disruptive members of society. These people were called sociopaths and the surgical technique

used to 'stabilise' them was called a lobotomy.

This involved chopping about the frontal lobe of the brain, in a controlled manner, which was then

supposed to make the patient a happy, more agreeable person.

In reality it was far less successful, often altering the personality of the lobotomised subjects to

such an extent that they were almost unrecognisable. Instead of a happy, useful person who could then go

on to contribute, rather than destroy, the operation often reduced them to smiling imbeciles.

To be fair, it must be understood that the reason for the failure of these early experiments in psycho-

surgery was due mainly to not understanding how the brain functioned. Things have since changed.

Of course, the techniques used by Sneed were much more sophisticated, and as his experiments on animals

had shown, they were completely successful - that is, in as far as they went.

But as always, Oliver had over-stated his case. He made all sorts of claims for techniques that were

untried and untested. He also boasted that he could raise the IQ of a congenital idiot, using psycho-

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DOCTORWHOSLIPBACKByERICSAWARD***BasedontheBBCradioserialbyEricSawardbyarrangementwiththeBritishBroadcastingCorporation***ATargetBookPublishedin1987BythePaperbackDivisionofW.H.Allen&Co.PLC44HillStreet,LondonW1X8LBFirstpublishedinGreatBritainbyW.H.Allen&Co.PLC1986Novelisationcopyright©EricSaward,1986O...

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