060 - Doctor Who and the Sunmakers

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Everyone knows that Pluto is a barren airless rock. So

naturally the Doctor is surprised when he discovers artificial

suns, an ultra-modern industrial city and a group of colonists

being worked—and taxed—to death in this inhospitable and

supposedly undeveloped part of the universe...

With the help of his companion Leela and the faithful K9, the

Doctor takes on the mysterious and powerful Company,

ruthless exploiter of planets and their people.

ISBN 0 426 20059 4

DOCTOR WHO

AND

THE SUNMAKERS

Based on the BBC television serial by Robert Holmes by

arrangement with the British Broadcasting Corporation

TERRANCE DICKS

A TARGET BOOK

published by

The Paperback Division of

W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd

A Target Book

Published in 1982

by the Paperback Division of W.H. Allen & Co. Ltd

44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

Corporation 1977, 1982

Phototypeset by Sunrise Setting, Torquay, Devon

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Hunt Barnard Printing Ltd, Aylesbury, Bucks

ISBN 0 426 20059 4

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 The Cost of the Golden Death

2 The Fugitive

3 The Others

4 The Collector

5 The Reprieve

6 The Trap

7 The Rebels

8 The Prisoner

9 The Steaming

10 Revolt

11 The Confrontation

12 Liquidation

The Cost of the Golden Death

In a drab and featureless corridor, a drab and featureless man

stood waiting before a shuttered hatch. His name was Cordo and

he wore the simple yellow coveralls of a D-grade Citizen, with the

symbol of the Sunmakers on the breast, a stylised face from

which radiated the sun’s rays.

He had been waiting for a very long time, the dull nagging

ache of sorrow filling his heart. Even D-grade Citizens have

feelings, though they seldom show them. Cordo’s father was

dying.

Suddenly the hatch snapped open, revealing a woman in the

uniform of a B-grade Nurse. She looked up and down the

corridor, then returned her gaze to Cordo. ‘Yes?’

‘Citizen Cordo, District Four. My father... is there news?’

‘One moment.’ She touched a console, studying the read-out

screen in front of her. ‘Congratulations, Citizen Cordo. Your

father ceased at 1.10.’

Tears flooded Cordo’s eyes, and he rubbed them away. ‘All

was well?’

‘A fine death. Body weight at termination was 84 kilos.’

Cordo bowed his head. ‘I am gratified.’

The nurse’s voice sharpened. ‘Gatherer Hade will be waiting

for the death taxes.’

Cordo fumbled inside his tunic. ‘I have them here.’

‘Then pay them. At the Gatherer’s Office!’ The shutter

slammed shut.

Another corridor, another endless wait. Cordo’s turn came at last

and he was shown into an office, furnished in the ornately

luxurious style that befitted the exalted status of Gatherer. There

was even an enormous table made from genuine wood – an

object of immense age and incredible value.

Gatherer Hade was behind his desk when Cordo entered.

His costume matched the ornateness of his office–a black-and-

pink striped affair with flowing cape and turban-like head-dress.

He went on working for a moment, his pudgy face grave and

absorbed.

Cordo stood before the desk, shuffling his feet uneasily. At

last Hade looked up. ‘Well, Citizen?’

‘Citizen Cordo, District Four. Death taxes. My father. I have

brought them with me.’

Cordo fumbled inside his tunic and produced a battered

plastic purse stuffed with painfully accumulated low-value metal

tokens. He was about to put it on the table, but Hade snapped.

‘Not on my table. You’ll mark it.’

Cordo peered reverently at the darkly gleaming surface. ‘It

is wood, your honour?’

‘It is,’ said Hade proudly. ‘A particularly rare kind called

mahogany. I don’t suppose you’ve ever seen wood before, eh

Citizen.’

Cordo shook his head. Like all lower-grade Citizens, he lived

in a world of metal and plastic and artificial light. ‘Never,

Gatherer. But we learned about wood at Preparation Centre.

There was even a picture of a tree, a fine-looking thing.’

‘Merely a primitive way of producing oxygen,’ said Hade

dismissively. ‘Thanks to the Company we have no need of trees

here on Pluto. Praise the Company!’

‘Praise the Company,’ echoed Cordo automatically.

Hade lifted a long roll of computer print-out from his desk.

‘Here is your account, Citizen. I see that you selected the Golden

Death, with full mercy attendance.’

‘Yes, your honour. I always promised my father that when

his death day came, there would be no suffering.’

‘Compassion is a noble thing,’ said Hade drily. ‘It is also

costly. The account totals 117 talmars.’

Cordo gasped. ‘One hundred and seventeen – it can’t be!’

Hade passed over the print-out. ‘See the account for

yourself.’

Cordo tried to study the columns of figures but they blurred

before his eyes. ‘There must be some mistake. It should be 80.

They told me it was 80 talmars for the Golden Death.’

‘The Collector recently raised death taxes.’

‘I didn’t know, your honour.’

‘The increase was bulletined.’

‘I didn’t see it.’

‘Then you should have. It is every citizen’s duty to keep

himself informed of the tax rates.’

Cordo rubbed his tired eyes. ‘I have so little time. I have

been working double shifts to earn the money.’

Hade snatched back the account, scanning the rows of

figures with an experienced eye. ‘The account is correct. Full

mercy attendance is now another 18 talmars. Disposal fee, ten

talmars. Plus of course value added tax of 10 per cent, total –

taking into account the increase in death tax – 132 talmars. It is

all here, you see... against that sum we set your father’s personal

contribution of seven talmars...’ Hade looked up disapprovingly.

‘Life savings of only seven talmars, Citizen Cordo? He must have

been a very poor man.’

‘He was,’ said Cordo humbly. ‘He was a municipal servant,

your honour. Forty years he cleaned the walkways...’

Hade nodded. ‘Then there is the recycling allowance. On his

death-weight of 84 kilos, that is 8 talmars, leaving a total debt of

117 talmars.’

Cordo held out his purse. Please – I have only 86 talmars,

and that has taken me years to save.’

Hade took the purse, emptied its contents into a drawer, and

tossed the empty container back to Cordo. ‘How do you propose

to settle the 31 talmars still outstanding?’

‘I cannot,’ said Cordo brokenly. ‘I have nothing, your

honour. Nothing.’

‘Taxes are the primary obigation of the Citizen,’ said Hade

sharply. ‘I see you are a D-grade foundry worker?’

‘Yes, your honour.’

‘Perhaps I can help you. Fortunately, as Gatherer, I have

certain special powers.’

Cordo looked at him disbelievingly. Could it be that the

Gatherer was showing mercy? ‘Help me, your honour?’

‘I will have a word with your Supervisor,’ said Hade briskly.

‘He will be instructed to allow you a special increase in your out-

put.’

‘Your honour, I am already working a double shift. I have

only my three hours’ sleeping time away from the factory’

‘Twenty-one hours a week, wasted unproductivity. You must

manage without sleep-time until the debt is paid.’

‘It will kill me!’

‘Take Q-capsules,’ snapped Hade. ‘Sleep is an unnecessary

luxury.’

‘But your honour, the high medical tax on Q-capsules means

I cannot afford to buy them!’

Hade rose dismissively. ‘You complain too much, Citizen

Cordo. Thank the Company you are warm, and fed.’

‘Praise the Company,’ said Cordo dully.

‘You may go, Citizen.’

‘I am gratified, your honour.’ Cordo bowed low, and backed

away.

In the impossibly large control room of the space/time craft

called the TARDIS, a very tall, curly-haired man wearing an

incredibly long scarf was playing chess with a robot dog. A tall,

brown-haired girl was watching them. She wore a brief garment

made of animal skins, and there was a fighting-knife at her hip.

The Doctor completed his move and sat back, smiling

complacently. He looked up at the girl. ‘You see, Leela? Even

simple one-dimensional chess exposes the limitations of the

machine mind!’

Leela made no reply. She was under the impression that

they were engaged in some complicated ritual to propitiate the

TARDIS, which she firmly believed to be some kind of god.

K9 scanned the board, whirred, clicked, buzzed and said.

‘Bishop to Queen 6, Mistress.’

Leela, who was acting as K9’s hands, leaned forwards,

moving the piece in accordance with the sacred ritual. ‘Here?’

‘Affirmative.’ K9 cocked his head up at the Doctor. ‘Check,

Master.’

‘What?’ The Doctor stared indignantly at the chess board.

‘Furthermore, my machine mind computes mate in six

moves’

‘Rubbish!’ said the Doctor crossly.

Leela looked worriedly at him. Clearly the Doctor was not

pleased. Perhaps the ritual was not going well. Suddenly she

noticed something, and jumped up. ‘Doctor, look!’

‘Leela, will you keep still?’

‘But Doctor –’

‘And keep quiet. I’m trying to concentrate.’

K9’s eyes glowed triumphantly. ‘Your move, Master.’

‘I’m well aware that it’s my move, thank you, K9. Don’t you

flash your eyes at me.’

The Doctor hitched irritably at his scarf, managingto knock

several pieces off the board with the trailing end. It was no doubt

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摘要：

EveryoneknowsthatPlutoisabarrenairlessrock.SonaturallytheDoctorissurprisedwhenhediscoversartificialsuns,anultra-modernindustrialcityandagroupofcolonistsbeingworked—andtaxed—todeathinthisinhospitableandsupposedlyundevelopedpartoftheuniverse...WiththehelpofhiscompanionLeelaandthefaithfulK9,theDoctorta...

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