055 - Doctor Who and the Seeds of Doom

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In the snowy wastes of blizzard-swept Antarctica, a strange

pod-like object is unearthed, buried deep in the ice. Curiosity

turns to alarm as the pod begins to grow—then horror when

suddenly it cracks open and a snaking green tendril shoots

out, mercilessly seeking the nearest live victim...

In London, the botanical experts are bewildered. DOCTOR

WHO is called in to fight this unknown horror. But will he be

in time to save Earth from the rapidly spreading tentacles of

the KRYNOID, giant man-eating monster from an alien

world?

ISBN 0 523 41620 2

DOCTOR WHO

AND THE

SEEDS OF DOOM

Based on the BBC television serial by Robert Banks Stewart by

arrangement with the British Broadcasting Corporation

PHILIP HINCHCLIFFE

published by

The Paperback Division of

W. H. Allen & Co. Ltd

A Target Book

Published in 1977

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

A Howard & Wyndham Company

44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

Published simultaneously in Great Britain by

Allan Wingate (Publishers) Ltd, 1977

Banks Stewart

Corporation

Printed and bound in Great Britain by

Richard Clay (The Chaucer Press) Ltd, Bungay, Suffolk

ISBN 0 426 11658 5

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 Mystery under the Ice

2 Death Stalks the Camp

3 Hunt in the Snow

4 Sabotage!

5 Betrayal

6 A Visit to Harrison Chase

7 Condemned to Die

8 The Krynoid Strikes

9 Siege

10 The Plants Attack

11 Trapped!

12 The Final Assault

Mystery under the Ice

Everywhere, as far as the eye could see, was a gleaming expanse

of white. Moberly adjusted his goggles to counteract the glare

and brushed the tiny icicles from his beard. The temperature

was dropping fast, and judging from the cloud formation above

the distant hills, a blizzard was brewing. Two years in the

Antarctic had taught him to pay attention to such signs. He

pulled his parka tightly round his face and called to another

muffled figure crouched in a deep trench near by.

‘Come on, Charles! The weather’s turning. We’ve got

enough samples for testing.’ The other man seemed not to hear

him. He was hacking furiously at something in the trench with

his ice pick. Moberly dropped down beside him.

‘Look,’ said his companion. He pointed at a dark gourd-like

object, about the size of a pineapple, embedded in the icy wall.

‘What is it?’ asked Moberly, his eyes widening in amazement.

‘Dunno. But it’s not ice,’ said the man named Charles, and

he carefully prised the object free. ‘Bit of a mystery, eh?’

Moberly nodded. ‘Let’s get it back to camp and take a

proper look.’ He took the strange object from Charles and

climbed out of the trench. It felt curiously heavy considering its

size. He placed it on the sledge and teamed up the dogs for the

trek back to camp. Charles joined him a moment later and the

two men set off across the icy waste, the dogs barking excitedly.

A sudden squall of snow blew across the sledge as it gathered

speed and the wind began to howl in the distance. Moberly

shivered. Without knowing why he felt uneasy, as if the

approaching blizzard carried with it a sense of impending doom.

The bright yellow huts which formed Antarctica Camp Three sat

huddled in the snow at the foot of a low ridge of mountains. The

huts were linked by corrugated steel tunnels which gleamed like

new whenever the sun shone. Now, however, the air was dark

with snow as the blizzard swept down from the mountains.

Moberly and his companion, Charles Winlett, had been lucky to

reach camp in time.

Inside the huts the contrast was astonishing. The specially

insulated walls and ceiling kept the atmosphere at an even

temperature and the overall impression was one of warmth and

light. In the Laboratory, John Stevenson, the expedition’s chief

botanist, was carefully freeing hardened ice from the outer

surface of the pod-like object. He was a pleasant, chubby man of

about forty-five, with a gingery moustache and thinning hair. In

his white Lab coat he had the air of a kindly dentist as he probed

the pod with a metal spatula.

He stopped and turned as Winlett and Moberly entered.

They had removed their outer furs and were now dressed in

jeans and sweaters. Derek Moberly was a large man with a big

bushy beard and a serious expression. He was a zoologist and

the most recent arrival on the polar expedition, which had been

in the field now for three years. Charles Winlett, a geologist, was

smaller and neater with a trim beard and pale blue eyes which

twinkled with good humour. Both men were in their early

thirties.

Moberly crossed to the pod. ‘Animal, vegetable or mineral,

John?’ he asked.

‘Vegetable,’ replied Stevenson without hesitation. ‘The

cutaneous creasing is unmistakable. When it’s properly thawed I

can confirm it with a cytology test.’ He gave the pod another

poke with his spatula. The ice was already melting in places to

reveal a hard green casing. Stevenson stared at it, puzzled. ‘How

deep in the permafrost was it?’ he asked.

‘I’d guess about the ninth layer,’ replied Winlett, ‘which

means it’s been there at least twenty thousand years.’

There was a moment’s silence as the significance of this

remark sank in. All three men were experts in their field but

none of them had come up against anything like this before. The

pod sat still and silent, glowing strangely in the rays of the ultra-

violet lamp being used to thaw it out.

‘Well it looks tropical to me, like a gourd,’ ventured

Moberly.

‘Rubbish, Derek,’ said Winlett. ‘If it’s the late Pleistocene

period it can’t be tropical. It’s a few million years since this part

of the Antarctica was rain-forest.’

‘That’s the accepted theory,’ said Moberly. ‘Discoveries like

this have destroyed accepted theories before, isn’t that right,

John?’

Stevenson did not reply. He was staring fixedly at the pod as

if in a trance. ‘Something wrong?’ asked Moberly, and he

suddenly remembered the feeling of unease that came over him

when he first handled the pod himself. Stevenson rubbed his

head.

‘Don’t you feel it?’ he said slowly. There was a hint of fear in

his voice.

‘Feel what?’ said Winlett.

‘Something odd... strange... as if...’ Stevenson struggled for

the words, ‘as if there’s some kind of other presence in the

room.’

Winlett laughed. ‘You’re imagining things, John. Must be

that rice pudding you had for lunch.’

Stevenson did not smile. ‘I’m not joking.’ He crouched over

the pod as if mesmerised by it. Winlett and Moberly exchanged

glances. They had never seen Stevenson like this before. He was

usually cool and level-headed, not given to wild imaginings.

What had got into him? Suddenly Stevenson gave a cry and

backed away from the pod. ‘I know what’s wrong.’ His voice

dropped to a whisper. ‘It’s alive! That thing is still alive!’ He

began pushing the others towards the door.

‘Wait a minute,’ said Winlett. ‘How can you tell?’

‘I don’t know how, but I’m certain it’s a living organism.’

Stevenson spoke with total conviction. ‘I’m going to transmit

pictures to London. Come on.’ He strode out of the room.

Winlett shrugged his shoulders and followed.

Moberly remained at the door a moment, an anxious look

on his face. Although he didn’t like to admit it, he too found the

pod worrying and somehow frightening. He glanced across at it.

It lay there on the bench, silent and sinister, an unwelcome guest

from the Earth’s deep and hidden past.

By two o’clock that same day pictures of the pod, received direct

by satellite from Antarctica, had succeeded in mystifying every

botanical expert in England. Sir Colin Thackeray, Head of the

World Ecology Bureau, was beginning to think he was the victim

of some gigantic hoax. In desperation he had finally told his

Deputy, Dunbar, to get on to a chap called the ‘Doctor’ who

worked for UNIT (United Nations Intelligence Task Force). ‘Bit

of a long shot,’ Sir Colin had said, ‘but worth a try in the

circumstances.’

It was understandable why Dunbar adopted a sceptical, even

sarcastic attitude to the peculiar personage who invaded his

office later that afternoon.

Wearing a long red velvet coat, a broad-brimmed hat, and a

large multi-coloured scarf trailed over his shoulder, the Doctor

hardly looked the picture of scientific eminence. Dunbar

wondered if in fact this was the man Sir Colin had meant, or

whether there had been some mistake. He took the photographs

of the pod from the filing cabinet. ‘I doubt very much if you can

help us–er–“Doctor”,’ he began frostily. ‘These pictures have

baffled all the experts. The only reasonable explanation seems to

be that the pod comes from some extinct species of plant.’

The Doctor sprawled into a chair, dumped his feet on

Dunbar’s desk and beamed a large, friendly smile. ‘It is the sign

of a tiny mind to look for reasonable explanations, Mr Dunbar.

The Universe is full of unreasonable things, only capable of

being explained unreasonably.’ Dunbar looked uncomfortable at

this challenge to the normal processes of thought. ‘Consider for

a moment,’ continued the Doctor, ‘the alternative hypothesis.’

He waved his arm airily.

‘Such as,’ snapped Dunbar, beginning to feel irritated.

‘That the pod may have originated in outer space?’ The

Doctor smiled sweetly as if no one but a fool could possibly think

otherwise.

Dunbar angrily thrust the photographs at the Doctor. ‘If you

have ever seen anything like this, you must have a very powerful

telescope,’ he said tartly. The Doctor pushed back the brim of his

hat and studied the photographs. For the first time Dunbar

noticed how blue and penetrating were the Doctor’s eyes, and he

could not help feeling he was in the presence of a very strange

and powerful person, so strange he seemed not quite human.

The Doctor tossed the photos back on the desk. ‘Mr Dunbar,

how long is it since there was vegetation in Antarctica?’

Dunbar explained this was something the World Ecology

expedition was trying to establish. The pod had been found

deep in the permafrost, twenty or thirty thousand years under

the ice.

‘Yes, and it’s probably still ticking,’ interrupted the Doctor.

He leapt out of his chair and headed for the door.

‘What? I don’t understand...’

The Doctor stabbed the air with his forefinger. ‘A time

bomb, Mr Dunbar, a time bomb! Are you in touch with the

expedition?’

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摘要：

Inthesnowywastesofblizzard-sweptAntarctica,astrangepod-likeobjectisunearthed,burieddeepintheice.Curiosityturnstoalarmasthepodbeginstogrow—thenhorrorwhensuddenlyitcracksopenandasnakinggreentendrilshootsout,mercilesslyseekingthenearestlivevictim...InLondon,thebotanicalexpertsarebewildered.DOCTORWHOisc...

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