13 - Placebo Effect

VIP免费

2024-12-24 0 0 450.32KB 157 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

DOCTOR WHO

Placebo Effect

An Eighth Doctor Ebook

By Gary Russel

Contents

Introduction

Chapter 1 . . . . . Something Wicked This Way Comes

Chapter 2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Face to Face

Chapter 3 . . . .The Whole Price of Blood

Chapter 4 . . .Throw Them to The Lions

Chapter 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Jigsaw Feeling

Chapter 6 . . . . . . . . . Are You Still Dying, Darling?

Chapter 7 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Green Fingers

Chapter 8 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Paradise Place

Chapter 9 . . . . . .Song From the Edge of the World

Chapter 10 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .The Rapture

Chapter 11 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Dazzle

Chapter 12 . . . . .There's a Planet in my Kitchen

This one is for all the Doctor Who followers who were at Furze Platt Junior/Comprehensive 1972-6, but

particularly Jon Fetter, Danny Roberts, Tim Firman, Alex Bridgeman,

Steven Young and Martin Jay, who, I assume, all had the good sense to grow out of it!

Still - I'm glad I never did!

Introduction

There is a school of thought somewhere that equates the Borg from Star Trek with the Cybermen from

Doctor Who . And superficially there are a great many similarities. However, I believe the Borg owe just as

much to the Wirrn (orWirrm as the novelist Ian Marter revised them - brrr, verrry crrreepy that). That

unrelenting self-drive to survive, to dominate and then learn. Whereas the Cybermen would take humanity and

convert it to their likeness, the Wirrrn would rather absorb it, or 'assimilate' it as our Trekking bad guys would

say. On top of that, as Seven of Nine is forever pointing out, she carries the knowledge of the entire Borg

Collective in her head, quoting species numbers and medical facts relating to the many different races the

Borg have assimilated. So it is with the Wirrrn, as viewers of The Ark In Space, the Bob Holmes masterpiece

in which they made their television debut, will recall.When the Wirrrn absorbed Technician Dune, so they

immediately had access not just to his individual knowledge and skills, but to the entire history of humanity

or as much as Dune knew. Assuming he had, at some point, skimmed through a pretty detailed

encyclopedia or had an Al education, well, the Wirrrn knew everything they needed to know. So forget the

Borg as the ultimate 'Resistance is futile, you will be assimilated' bad guys - Doctor Who via the Wirrrn was

doing this fifteen years earlier. Now, add to all this the obvious insectoid paranoia encouraged by the Alien

movies and you have the Wirrrn of this adventure for the Eighth Doctor and Sam Jones.

A quick round of thanks here - to Steve Cole at BBC Books who so good-humouredly nodded at me when I

said I wanted to do a Nimon-versus-Macra story. And equally good-humouredly smiled when I said.'Oh, all

right. How about the Wirrrn and the Foamasi?'

And to the other Eighth Doctor authors, particularly Peter Anghelides,John Peel, Kate Orman and Jon Blum,

who answered my questions, queries and other irrelevant e-mails.

Grateful thanks also to: Trey Korte for the theology discussions John Binns for the 'qualityness'; David Bailey

for scans; Nick Pegg for having a surgeon for a father; David Mclntee for patience and, of course, Johnnie,

without whom...

A nod of appreciation to the folk at Gallifrey '98, Especially Rhonda,Jill, Shaun, Chad, Eric and Ingrid. And

everyone at Marty's surprise party.

And a'save big money' thanks to those who sat in the hotel lobby on the Sunday night after Gallifrey '98,

discussing weird American store adverts. Particularly Kathy Sullivan, Gary Gillatt, Greg Bakun and Michael

Lee. It was very surreal but by far the most relaxed and pleasant few hours of an entirely wonderful weekend.

And as for that green goo in the plastic tube...

Plus a special hug for Andrew Pixley, whose contributions to Placebo Effect, indeed all my novels, are subtle

things that float around my subconscious simply because of many happy hours spent talking Who and

enjoying doing so because we love this unique concept in drama for what it truly is/was/should be again - just

a damn good television programme.

Gary Russell

March 1998

Chapter 1

Something Wicked This Way Comes

Quite some time past...

No one knows exactly where they came from. Legends on some planets believe they came from another

galaxy, another universe perhaps. Other planets offer up the idea that they were created by the same giants

for whom the universe is nothing more than a rose garden, a garden needing a blight of sorts to keep the rest

of the life therein in check. And some planets simply don't care about their origins - just that they exist, they

threaten and they seem to be unstoppable.

One thing that all these planets agree on is that the Andromedan Galaxy would be a safer, more pleasant

and peaceful place if this blight were to be eradicated. Millions of bloodstones had been exchanged for

weapons that proved ineffectual. Millions of lives had been fruitlessly laid down in an effort to fight them. And

millions more lived under the constant threat of extinction -or worse - under their relentless pursuit of galactic

supremacy.

How could anyone hope to survive the onslaught? How did you destroy an enemy whose body was so

hardened that even a diamond-edged knife could not cut through it? How did you defeat a foe that could live

as easily in the harsh, gravity-less areas of space as comfortably as in the heat of Tyrexus or the harsh arctic

wastes of Livista? How did you thwart an enemy who picked clean the planets of the Phylox system in less

than five days, killing or 'converting' everything they encountered?

No one throughout the Andromedan Galaxy had any answers, but from the furthest reaches of Coscos and

Salostophus to the rim worlds of Golos and Vysp, every living creature breathed a sigh of relief when the

enemy left the Andromedan Galaxy behind and moved on to the rich pickings of what lay beyond. The

Andromedans knew nothing of the galaxy that lay beyond, but they hoped and prayed that somewhere

among the billions of planets it housed, a champion would arise to take on their apparently unstoppable foe

and find a weakness, exploit it and eventually destroy the enemy, once and for all. Because if they failed,

then that galaxy, then the next and the next and the next, would surely fall, leaving the entire universe

dominated by just one malevolent, relentless, self-preserving species.

If they had the means, they would have sent out a message, a cry of despair, a plea for help. Just one word,

guaranteed to bring fear to any who read it.

Wirrrn.

Chapter 2

Face to Face

A little more recently...

The shuttle was due in two hours. Not long enough by any means, but that was life. Never enough time to do

all the important things like packing extra underwear in case you fell in a pond, or extra caps in case the sun

burnt the top of your skull and you'd run out of blocking gel.

Never enough time...

Dr Miles Mason zipped up his holdall and gave his office one last look. The locum, a Dr Bakun, would be

arriving in the morning, but for the next two months, this practice was no longer his, and that made Dr Mason

a little sad. He'd spent most of his life savings creating this small business and, successful as it was, leaving

it in the hands of another panicked him far more than it should. Nevertheless, business was business, and

this new venture was an opportunity to get a very important tag-line on his CV. With a final stroke of a leaf on

his rubber plant, Dr Mason turned and left his office.

'Well, Miss Rutherford, see you on my return:

His receptionist beamed up at him. 'Good luck, sir. I'm sure you'll have lots of fun and very little work to do.'

He nodded and looked up as a buzzer sounded. "That'll be the cab, then. Au revoir.'

He felt Miss Rutherford's beady eye on his back as the glass doors slid aside and let him exit the small

building and walk out into the harsh sunlight of Cape City. He shielded his eyes to check the cab, and, yes, it

was driven by Ntumbe - just as he had requested.

Ntumbe jumped out of the little vehicle, causing it to wobble slightly as the antigrav compensators allowed for

the shift in internal weight. It wobbled a couple more times as first the luggage and then the two men added

their bulk to it.

'Shuttle dome, sir?'

'Yes please. I'm very early, but you know me. I like to get there in good time.'

Ntumbe smiled. Ntumbe always smiled, come to think of it. Dr Mason had never seen him cross, even after

an accident he'd had when his previous cab was shunted by a cargo loader. Something about the clean

South African air no doubt made for a higher quality of life. Certainly Mason had felt happy since moving here

eight years previously, from his old, rather suffocating job as a junior partner in a major Chicago practice.

'Heard from your son, sir?'

Mason shook his head. 'Not for ages. Last I heard, Matt was on his way to lo with the others in his division.'

'Nice to have a major for a son,' Ntumbe said. 'My son wants to be an astronaut one day like yours. I told him

he'd be better off staying on Earth. Earth needs people right now, don't you think, Dr Mason?'

Mason nodded. 'Since the expansionists got into power, I've been feeling that too many people are heading to

Mars or Saturn. If we're not careful, the administration won't be able to support itself because everyone they've

trained properly will be offworld and we'll all...' Dr Mason trailed off.'Sorry, Ntumbe. Soapbox time again.'

Ntumbe laughed. 'Not to worry, Doctor. If you didn't talk about it, I'd worry. Think you were sick or something.

Nothing worse than a sick doctor, eh?'

Mason nodded and the cab glided through the gates of the Shuttle Dome. He pointed towards Bay S With a

nod of acknowledgment, Ntumbe turned the cab into the bay and Mason got out, hitching his holdall over his

shoulder. He leaned back into the front of the cab, jabbed his card into the slot on Ntumbe's dash and winked

slowly. He waited as the red light turned to green. It had recognised his retina print and accepted his credit

transfer. With a cheery farewell wave, Ntumbe and his cab skittered away.

Mason wandered into the Dome entrance and started looking for the right queue for the shuttle. Twenty

thousand years of civilisation, with wars, invasions, empires and declines - and still humankind queued for

everything.

'Excuse me. Dr Mason? Miles Mason?'

Mason looked at the stranger who had touched his arm. He was no slouch when it came to alien species

(which was just as well, bearing in mind where he was headed) but he simply didn't recognise the race of the

person in the dark-grey uniform. It - he? - had a dark, bluish skin with a tinge of green, and a couple of tusks

jutted out of yellow-spotted, membrane-lined, bloated cheeks. He couldn't spot a mouth (but, as the alien

didn't appear to have trouble speaking, he assumed there was one somewhere) but the nose was an

elephantine affair about thirty centimetres long. The eyes were two large red ovals that blinked slowly on a

domed forehead. Mason acknowledged his identity, and the stranger offered a smallish hand, which Mason

shook, cautiously.

'My name is Labus. I'm a huge fan of your work and -'

Mason whipped his hand away suddenly. It was burning -whatever this Labus's skin was made of, it wasn't

designed for contact with humans. A thin greenish film covered his palm and he casually wiped it on his

jacket. Labus (male, Mason decided) looked alarmed, and his trunk-like nose receded into his face, leaving a

lumpy nodule in its place - which at least provided Mason with a view of Labus's tiny slit-like mouth. Mason

then put his hand up, to show it wasn't damaged. 'I'm so sorry, Labus, but

your skin is rather... warm to the touch. It took me by surprise, that's all.'

Labus seemed to relax. His trunk extended itself again, and his eyes seemed to widen a fraction, which

Mason hoped was a sign of pleasure. Or, at least, not open hostility.

Labus indicated a nearby lounge. 'Could I buy you a coffee before your journey?'

'Well, I do need to check in...'

Labus produced a ticket from inside his grey jacket. 'Already taken care of.'

'Are you from Carrington Corp?'

Labus shook his head, and indicated his order to a service droid. 'Although I am affiliated to them. But yes, I

have been sent to meet you. My... associates have followed your work in xenobiology with great interest.'

'Yes, well, some xenospecialist I am. First rule is "Don't whip your hand away rudely on first contact" - and I

messed that up.'

Labus laughed, and Dr Mason found himself smiling. But his hand still stung somewhat.

The droid arrived with a jug of coffee and two cups. Labus poured and passed one to his guest. 'Tell me about

your trip to Micawber's World, Dr Mason...'

***

Across the way, another figure watched the conversation with extreme interest.

At his feet was an attache case. He lifted it and rested in on the table, deliberately aiming one corner at the

conversation across the way. The tiny recorder inside couldn't possibly pick up the sound - even if it tried, the

local ambience would drown it out too much and, no matter how good a job was done on filtering, they'd never

be able to get a good enough recording. But at least by videoing the human doctor's side of the conversation,

a degree of lip-reading would be possible back at the labs.

Someone was going to be paying him a lot of money for this information.

***

'You're not Suki Raymond!'

J. Garth Wilcox swallowed. A few seconds earlier, the thing facing him had been Suki Raymond, his loyal

adjutant and personal assistant and secretary and dogsbody and gopher and...

And now she was a considerably larger green reptilian thing with rotating eyes, spiky whiskers and

three-clawed hands.

'How astute of you to notice. Sadly, poor Ms R - how can I put this? - fell out of favour some weeks back.'

Wilcox frowned.'Nonsense, she was here yesterday.'

'No. I was here yesterday. And the day before that. And before that. And -'

'Oh, God... Sunday night?'

'Oh yes, indeed. Oh that was certainly me. Oh wow, Mr Wilcox, just how do you humans do that thing with

your -' Eerily, the inhuman... thing was speaking in Suki's voice. Some kind of vocoder no doubt.

Wilcox let his head fall into his hands and then let himself droop across his white vinyl desk. 'No, no, no, no,'

he murmured, somehow trying to imagine that when he lifted his head up, his lovely neat office on the

eighteenth floor of PharmaChem and Medico Inc. (Ganymede office) would be as it should be, with Suki

Raymond sitting cross-legged on the white stool in front of him, tapping out notes on her little datapad,

nodding serenely, and licking those very luscious lips every so often.

He looked up.

The room was in disarray. Drawers and filing cabinets were ripped open. His computer screen was cracked.

The holos of his wife and two daughters were spluttering slightly as their combined function matrix was being

disrupted by an upturned chair.

And facing him was every businessman's nightmare, green skin rippling with each breath, leaving a very slight

damp patch on the carpet.

'How do you do it?' he asked eventually. The million other questions in his mind about how long his

department had been infiltrated, how many secrets, deals and financial transactions were no longer

confidential, how poor Suki had met her end and just how he had had sex with said green reptile last Sunday

seemed bizarrely irrelevant at that moment. And far too awful to consider rationally - especially the last

question.

'Our skeletons have hollow bones with double-joints every few centimetres. This means we can compact our

natural forms quite comfortably inside a full replica-human bodysuit for up to eighteen hours at a time.' The

creature sniggered. 'It's actually rather pleasant, like rolling in jelly for a while. Much of our body is liquid, our

organs are small and our tails retract. Anything else you'd like to know? We're rather proud of our abilities.

Makes industrial espionage so much more fun.'

'What did you do it for? Why do the Foamasi government need my department's secrets?'

The Foamasi sniggered again. 'Government? Do I look like a government representative, Mr Wilcox?'

'I... I don't know,'Wilcox whispered.'I wouldn't know what a Foamasi government representative should look

like.'

'No, I don't suppose you do. Rest assured, I'm not. I represent an... independent group very interested in

acquiring a large piece of your business, Mr Wilcox. Subtly of course. No one need know. About our deal or

last Sunday.' The Foamasi waddled across the room, its bulk making little noise as it did so, and flopped into

a luxurious white leather armchair which swivelled. The Foamasi kicked with a clawed foot, sending itself

spinning, seeing the whole glass-built office in one 36O degree turn. 'Wheeee! This is fun. D'you do this often,

Mr Wilcox? Give yourself a good view of Ganymede City from up here? Or did you do it as part of your most

energetic frolics with the unfortunate Ms Raymond?'

Wilcox shook his head slowly. "This can't be happening.

Suddenly he was out of his seat - the Foamasi had crossed to him in a split second and was holding him

against the glass with one paw, a claw pressing against his neck.

Wilcox could feel a stab of pain as the claw broke his skin.

'I'm getting bored now, Mr Wilcox. I have enough on you to bring your little empire down.' The Foamasi

paused and cocked its head. 'Come to think of it, I've probably got enough to bring the whole company down,

but your department will do. For now.' He dropped Wilcox back into his seat.'All I want you to do is sign a

document passing financial control over to poor Ms Raymond.'

'But she... she's dead?'

'I'm not. And, as you may have observed recently, I make a remarkably good replacement.' The Foamasi

moved towards the door linking Wilcox's office with Ms Raymond's.'You have twenty seconds, Mr Wilcox.'

And with that the Foamasi was gone.

Think! J. Garth Wilcox, you did not get where you are today by not thinking. Should he tell head office and

admit he had been duped? No, perhaps not. A quick call into the office of the Guardian of the Solar System?

Get him to put his special agents on to the case? No, they probably had thousands of unsolved Foamasi

cases pending. The Foamasi had spent ten centuries gaining the power and political sophistication that made

them feared throughout the galaxy. The SSS didn't know where to begin.

God - what if his wife found out about last Sunday? What about the kids...?

Suki Raymond walked into his office from her own, smiling. Hell, the likeness was uncanny. The walk, the

smile... But then, if this Foamasi had assumed her position so long ago, the smile and walk he recognised

as hers were probably his. Its! 'Sign this, please, Mr Wilcox.'What looked like Suki held out a datapad. 'It

confirms that financial dealings for PharmaChem and Medico Inc. (Ganymede office) now foil directly under

my purview.'

Shakily, Wilcox pressed his thumb on the pad. A green light winked, indicating it recognised the signature.

'Now this one, please. This passes forty-nine per cent of the decision-making over to me. Any more than that,

and people would become suspicious.'

'Like they won't anyway?'

The Foamasi laughed again. 'IVe made sure that enough people are aware of our... torrid little dalliances, Mr

Wilcox. Nothing you do will surprise them now.'

He signed, resignedly.

'And this one breaks your marriage contract with your wife. They will receive a healthy monthly payment from

you, and it cites me - or Suki - as co-respondent in the cause for the breach. It also makes me your new

wife, thus passing fifty per cent of everything you own to me as well.'

Without pausing, he signed.

'And finally, this one.'

'What is it?'

'Sign it,' the Foamasi shouted suddenly. Jumping, Wilcox thumbed it, as he had the others.

"That was your suicide note, Mr Wilcox. And, as your secretary, not only do I have that forty-nine per cent of

the business but, as your new wife - or distraught widow - I inherit your shares, making me Director of this

division in absentia !

Wilcox let this sink in.'My suicide note?'

'Goodbye, Mr Wilcox. Thank you again for Sunday. Most... charming.'

The Foamasi reached over and shoved Wilcox against the glass wall. As his head smacked against it, he

heard a sound like a thunderbolt. Was it raining?

As the glass behind gave way and Wilcox felt the rush of wind around his ears, he looked up, and saw a

glorious day, the artificial sun warming the city, the blue, cloudless skies reminding him of his childhood on

Earth.

Then he hit the causeway eighteen storeys below.

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

DOCTORWHOPlaceboEffectAnEighthDoctorEbookByGaryRusselContentsIntroductionChapter1.....SomethingWickedThisWayComesChapter2................FacetoFaceChapter3....TheWholePriceofBloodChapter4...ThrowThemtoTheLionsChapter5...............JigsawFeelingChapter6.........AreYouStillDying,Darling?Chapter7........

展开>> 收起<<

13 - Placebo Effect.pdf

共157页,预览32页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

13 - Placebo Effect

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: