048 - Doctor Who and the Planet of the Spiders

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‘It’s happening, Brigadier! It’s happening!’ Sarah cried out.

The Brigadier watched, fascinated, as the lifeless body of his

old friend and companion, Dr Who, suddenly began to glow

with an eerie golden light... The features were blurring,

changing... ‘Well, bless my soul,’ said the Brigadier. ‘WHO

will be next?’

Read the last exciting adventure of DR WHO’s 3rd

incarnation!

ISBN 0 426 10655 5

DOCTOR WHO

AND THE

PLANET OF THE SPIDERS

Based on the BBC television serial by Robert Sloman 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 1975

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

A Howard & Wyndham Company

44 Hill Street, London W1X 8LB

Corporation 1974, 1975

Reproduced, printed and bound in Great Britain by

The Anchor Press Ltd, Tiptree, Essex

ISBN 0 426 10655 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

Prologue: The Mystery of the Crystal

1 The Menace at the Monastery

2 The Deadly Experiment

3 The Coming of the Spider

4 The Chase for the Crystal

5 The Council of the Spiders

6 Arrival on Metebelis Three

7 Prisoner of the Spiders

8 The Doctor Hits Back

9 In the Lair of the Great One

10 Return to Earth

11 The Battle with the Spiders

12 The Last Enemy

Epilogue: An End and a Beginning

Prologue

The Mystery of the Crystal

Night falls suddenly in the rain forests of the upper Amazon.

One moment, the little clearing was bathed in greenish gloom by

the light filtering through the dense carpet of the tree-tops

overhead; the next it was plunged into darkness.

The Indian porters were busily setting up the little

encampment. Soon the tents were up, and a campfire blazing.

The explorer came out of his tent, and watched the Indians

going about their work, unpacking supplies and preparing the

evening meal. Everything seemed normal: they had carried out

this routine a hundred times before. But somehow the

atmosphere was thick with fear and menace. Suddenly the men

stopped work, huddled together, and began to whisper amongst

themselves. The explorer thought of the heavy revolver packed

somewhere at the bottom of his luggage. Then he shook his

head. He wasn’t going to turn against everything he’d always

believed. His business was saving lives, not destroying them,

His wife came from inside the tent and joined him. She

seemed tiny, almost child-like, beside his lanky form. He put out

an arm and drew her to his side. She nodded towards the little

group of Indians. ‘They’re still on the warpath, then?’

He nodded his head. ‘You’re telling me, love. You could cut

the atmosphere with a machete.’

They stood for a moment, listening to the low voices of the

Indians. Then the old man who was their recognised leader

detached himself from the others and came towards the tent.

The explorer’s wife looked on as the old Indian stood before

them. He was speaking in a guttural, urgent voice. She had

never mastered the Indian speech, but she could easily guess

what he was saying. She heard her husband reply. Languages

came easily to him, and he was fluent in all the Indian dialects.

Perhaps it was something to do with being Welsh, she thought.

After that, other languages must seem simple.

She listened intently to the voices of the two men. It was

funny how much you could understand, even without knowing a

word of the language. She heard the old Indian’s voice, stern

and insistent; then her husband’s protesting, persuading. A

further burst of staccato syllables from the Indian – a sweeping

gesture at the blackness of the surrounding jungle that could

only be a threat. Her husband again, resigned, placatory,

reassuring.

The Indian peered keenly at him, black eyes impassive

under the fringe of black hair. He gave a final satisfied grunt,

and strode across the clearing. She could hear him talking to the

others in a low voice. After a moment the porters started

working again. She felt her husband’s hand on her elbow, and

he led her back inside the tent.

‘Listen, love,’ he began.

She interrupted him. ‘Don’t tell me – it’s the crystal again,

isn’t it?’

He nodded. ‘’Fraid so – after that last accident at the river

crossing, they’re convinced it’s bad luck. They’ve given us an

ultimatum. It goes or they go.’

‘But that was just an ordinary little accident.’

‘We’ve had too many little accidents. They mean what they

say.’

‘Surely they wouldn’t just leave us here?’

‘It could be worse than that. They know they shouldn’t

abandon us – they’d be in trouble with the Government if we

complained. So they’d probably decide it was safer to cover their

tracks.’

‘How?’

He took a deep breath. ‘These people used to be head

hunters not too long ago. They might prefer to make sure we

weren’t in a position to complain about them – kill us and

disappear into the jungle.’

She sank down on the rickety camp bed. ‘What did you say

to them?’

‘Well, first of all, they wanted me to throw the thing away.’

‘No... I won’t do it!’ Her voice was fierce.

He raised his hand placatingly. ‘Hang on – I managed to

convince him that the safest thing would be to send it away. Back

to where it came from, right out of their land. We’ll reach one of

the river trading posts day after tomorrow. You can pack it up

and send it off in the mail boat. Honestly – it’s the only way.’

She nodded, accepting the situation. ‘O.K. I’ll make up the

parcel now.’

He gave her a pat on the shoulder and left the tent to

supervise the porters, relieved that his wife had taken it so well.

He knew how attached she was to this souvenir of her old

friends and her former life.

The girl sitting on the bed sighed, and reached for the little

rucksack in which she carried her personal possessions. From

the bottom of it she fished a small bundle. She unwrapped it and

revealed the cause of all the trouble: a many-faceted blue stone –

a sort of crystal. At first, it seemed dull and opaque. Then, as you

looked at it, something-strange happened. Little blue fires

seemed to spring up deep inside it, and the crystal began to

glow...

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then re-wrapped the

stone. She’d better send a letter with the parcel. She fished in the

rucksack again, and produced a leather writing case and a ball-

point pen.

Josephine Jones, formerly Jo Grant, one-time member of

UNIT, one-time assistant to that mysterious individual known

only as the Doctor, propped the case on her knee, and began to

write....

Many thousands of miles away, another ex-member of UNIT

crouched motionless in a darkened cellar. From his hiding place

at the top of the steps, he was watching a little group of robed

figures, sitting cross-legged in a circle around an intricately

drawn symbol. Candles stuck into old wine bottles illuminated

the weird scene with a flickering yellow light.

The men in the circle were chanting in low guttural voices,

accompanying themselves with the regular clash of cymbals.

They swayed to and fro as if hypnotised.

The watching man shivered in the darkness. An atmosphere

of brooding evil filled the cellar, and it was growing stronger. In

the centre of the chanting circle a shape was beginning to form...

Near the watcher’s face, a spider’s web suddenly vibrated with

life as the spider ran quickly to its centre. The watcher leaned

forward for a better view and the silky, sticky strands of the web

brushed his face. He shuddered away from their touch and

jumped back, knocking over a wine bottle at his feet. just as the

chanting was rising to a peak, the bottle rolled down the steps,

and smashed on the floor with an appalling crash.

The chanting stopped dead. The robed figures sprang to

their feet. Some of them ran to the head of the stairs – but the

watcher was gone.

Outside, in the gardens of the big old country house, Mike

Yates, formerly Captain Yates, one-time member of UNIT, one-

time assistant to Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, ran through the

darkness towards his car. He was more frightened than he had

ever been in his life.

The little group in the cellar had been thrown into a panic.

They gathered round their leader, a middle-aged man with

haggard, bitter features. His name was Lupton.

He was talking angrily to a younger, weak-faced man called

Barnes, who had been sitting nearest the door. ‘You’re sure you

didn’t see anything?’

Barnes shook his head. ‘It was the wind, it must have been.

Blew open the cellar door, knocked the bottle over...’ His voice

tailed off, unconvincing even to himself.

‘Listen,’ said Lupton suddenly. ‘What’s that?’ They heard

the harsh roar of an engine going away into the distance. ‘A

sports car,’ said Lupton menacingly. ‘There’s only one sports car

here – it belongs to our new friend, Mr. Yates.’

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摘要：

‘It’shappening,Brigadier!It’shappening!’Sarahcriedout.TheBrigadierwatched,fascinated,asthelifelessbodyofhisoldfriendandcompanion,DrWho,suddenlybegantoglowwithaneeriegoldenlight...Thefeatureswereblurring,changing...‘Well,blessmysoul,’saidtheBrigadier.‘WHOwillbenext?’ReadthelastexcitingadventureofDRWH...

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